


Of Lost Wisdom and Ancient Unknowing

by docboredom



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, It's a story that takes place IN the DND universe not a DND game, M/M, Multi, No Dungeons & Dragons Knowledge Required, it just didn't feel right tagging it as T, it's rated m for themes of violence and adult characters openly talking about sexuality, lots of terminology don't worry it's for the believability you don't have to read all of it, mix of original ideas and canon, oh my god the DND canon is nuts guys I learned so much and so little at the same time, there's not even any fade to blacks you don't have to worry, this is gonna be long yeehaw (when ISNT it???)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23877553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docboredom/pseuds/docboredom
Summary: Resting on the edges of Faerun there is a place known as Mundus Muli, where the world is kinder, safer, more welcoming... But something creeps on the horizon, the likes of which have never seen before by anyone, and it falls to our heroes to band together and fight the good fight.But there are secrets too, mysteries folded into everyone, and only time will tell what the universe holds.
Relationships: Commander Meouch/Original Character, Doctor Sung/Lord Phobos (TWRP)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

_ It was the kind of night you could write a story about.  _

_ Raging and endless.  _

_ Cold and reckless.  _

_ Dark and damning outright.  _

_ The streets were soulless with not a body nor beasty to be found; driven to safer corners by threat of danger and fright. It was the kind of night that magic thrived on, secrets were made of, that called heroes to stand up and fight the good fight.  _

_ It was the kind of night where something was bound to happen. _

_ It was a black moon night. _

~

“What in Milil’s name is a  _ black _ moon, Lark?”

“You know! When the moon hangs high in the sky and holds no silver upon it’s face.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is a _ new _ moon…”

“Yes, but that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like black moon night, now does it my good friend?”

The day outside was flawless, the blue of the afternoon sky striking and picturesque. What one could-should-and probably  _ would _ call a perfect day of Summertide, if Lark was being honest with himself. Nothing at all like that Rotting night. No. That had come from his worst dreamings, his best nightmares…

And thus his soul demanded! He was ballad bound.

Despite it only being midday, Humble was pleasantly drunk- cheeks pinked, lashes heavy, curls springing messily. “Well.” He slurred as he sat up, failing to fix his loose top. “There is a difference between the rolling of tongues and the average intelligence of our audience, dear heart.”

“You mean the common folk.” Lark filled in, mouth already curving.

Humble clapped his hands approvingly. “Yes! Them! You know. Noses in almanacs, taught at home… They’ll hear that on the streets and give you one long, hard look and say ‘oh he’s off his rocker, that one.’”

Lark eyed the Halfling from his desk in the corner. They ought to be _ out  _ in those summered streets right now, making coin, performing… But here they were unmoving, self made hostages. “I don’t know if I’d go  _ that _ far.” He tucked his head down again, quill in hand, song in heart, trying to summon the next part. Perhaps he could delve into detail about said heroes? Or mayhaps more of what the black moon meant...? 

Lark gave a quick shake of his head, hoping to dispel his damned writer’s block, bastardous quill hovering uselessly. “Yes, but say if we actually made an attempt to put on a show somewhere more… prestigious. Say-  _ not  _ a street corner?” Lark offered up quietly, as if they hadn’t had this conversation a million times before.

And that’s when their eyes met and Lark saw there something gleaming. Liquid courage, perhaps, if Tymora’s luck would have it. The heart of a bard come to life. But then Humble did what he always did. He turned his head, sighed deeply, and shut his limpid eyes.

It wasn’t mean. Wasn’t even teasing. It was just world weary and worn down. “Wouldn’t that be nice, dear heart?” The Halfling murmured tiredly before laying himself back down.

Now Lark knew. He knew, he knew, he  _ knew _ he couldn’t be mad at his only friend, and yet bitterness was quick to rear it’s ugly head. Settling for so little? The bare minimum. He didn’t know if he should cry or laugh. They had grown up with every door thrown open, with hearths roaring and mead flowing, laughter and merriment abound. And now what? They were scrounging for coppers, eating table scraps...

Such was not the way of Lark Sung.

He set his jaw and stood abruptly, folding his messy papers up and tucking them into his handy belt bag. “Humble. Humble? Humble, you bastard, do you hear me?” The Halfling cracked an eye and blew a raspberry which the Human chose to ignore. “Great. I’m off to do… well, something. Who knows! I can’t sit around here any longer or I’ll go stir crazy. Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

“Sounds like you’re keen for a questing, and we both know how that goes.” Humble yawned into his pillow as Lark began to pull his boots on, humming to himself. “Shall I hold the room until next week, then?”

Lark became incredulous. “It’s not going to be a week, you dolt! It will simply be for the next few hours at most!” There had been that one time where yes, he had gone and gotten himself into quite the tizzy with some red caps, leaving Humble confused and searching for nearly a fortnight. But that was then and this was now. Live and learn, he told himself. “I won’t even venture towards the edge of town. I promise. You need not worry, my friend!”

Humble went about rolling his eyes. “I’m not worried…”

“I’ll be fine!” Lark promised, only half hearing.

“I’m  _ sure _ you will be, Lark.”

“And I’ll be home in time for some sup.”

He pulled on his cloak as Humble groaned and turned over. There wasn’t really any need for a cloak on a fine day like this, but the burnt umber of it went with everything. He was looking to make a statement after all, or quite possibly a scene. To be decided that one. “Now I will let you know if I find something of interest of course.” Lark was still babbling, not even sure if Humble could even  _ hear _ him at this point, but also not really caring. “Bring Miss Gurdy herself-”

Humble leapt up, by all accounts very much awake and hearing him. “You will  _ not! _ ”

“What do you mean I will not?” Lark pouted with a flounce of his hands. “It’s been far too long! She needs fresh air! Sun! It’s not healthy to keep her locked up like some kind of invalid.”

Humble face was disbelieving, angry even. “She needs to be burned to cinders, is what!”

He was stomping now, making a great big show of throwing open their gilded travel chest and digging through it, throwing clothes and sheet music about. “Well I’m bringing her and you can’t stop me, you drunk oaf. Besides, you’ll be here! She isn’t even your problem...”

“I think you’re underestimating her range, you bastard. Can’t you just…” Lark wasn’t even listening, thrilling as he revealed her in all her polished glory, all fine strings and inlaid mother of pearl. “Play something  _ normal _ for once?” 

Lark stood as he fixed the straps on the Hurdy Gurdy, outright beaming. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

The halls of the Red-Tailed Hawk groaned precariously under his feet as he barreled towards the stairs. Today was the day. He could feel it in his blood, his body, his being. Something grand and fantastic was going to happen today and he would be at the heart of it.

There was no denying it.

~

Something terrible and loathsome was going to happen today and he would be at the heart of it.

There was no denying it.

Ryder felt his eyelid twitch despairingly behind the ring of his spyglass. The shores of Mundus Muli were fast approaching, which called for final round making and ensuring everyone was at their right post… but something had settled deep in his gut that wasn’t sea sickness, wasn’t homesickness even, nailing him to the spot.

Talos and Umberlee had missed their chances to ruin them, whether by the intervention of Helm the Great Guard, or perhaps Eldath’s or Tymora’s sweet meddlings; but that didn’t mean that there weren’t greater threats waiting for them once they were land bound. Beshaba, Loviatar, Talona, Shar… 

Gods. Why were all the really bad ones rutting women, huh?

He placed the spyglass down on his bedside table and began to trace sigils into the stained window pane. It was all stupid superstitions but comforting all the same. When every day hinged on the right kind of weather or the quick silver of your wit, you took what you could.

And when you were a nefarious sea pirate, well, you just took everything.

“Oy, captain.” Just like that his dread dissipated like sea foam, unfurling into something different. He hadn’t heard the door knob turning, but there was no denying the low hum of Yevon’s voice as it curled into the cabin; the surprising subtleness of her steps, the way she braved the threshold. She was smiling in an awful way when their gazes met, golden tusks shining, eyes aglow. “You hiding?” She said, always the tease.

“Thinking, actually.” He snorted oh so subtly, or maybe  _ not _ so subtly knowing Yevon, rubbing the stiffness out of his bearded jaw. “S’been a while since we’ve been on hard soil. I don’t think I’m going to remember how to move around.”

The Half Orc gave a loud and unapologetic laugh in reply, throwing her thick braids back with the action. “Bullshit.” She sniped mercilessly, still stalking the room like some fearless predator as she moved closer. “You’re a landlubber at heart.”

His eyebrows rose up slowly, as did his mouth. “Is that how you talk to your captain?” He posed, a beast in waiting, words whisper low and velvet soft.

She was unfazed, just like she had been entering the room, as she always was, really... 

“It’s how I talk to my husband, you arse.”

He was on her in an instant, flurrying kisses across her cheeks and brow. “It’s a surprise I have  _ any _ kind of respect around here when you talk like that.” He growled playfully as he nipped the end of her nose, unable to keep himself from smiling even as he sassed her up. She simply gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him even closer somehow, apparently uncaring of his triade, laughing her ass off. “One would think you’re _ this _ close to throwing a coup-”

“Maybe I am. Many would say that committing yourself to nearly five years of marriage in order to ensure that I claim my rightful ownership over the Tempest Turned is, how do you say, overkill, but I’d like to think it’s worth it in the end.” She giggled breathlessly, trying her best to stay dramatic. “Besides, you’re decently handsome, and fairly competent in bed, so it’s not a  _ total _ loss.”

He balked, then began squawking as she lost it completely. “Yev!”

“It’s-!” She gulped, tears streaming from her eyes. “It’s the little things, you know!”

Every shred of unease was gone in an instant as he met every laugh with a kiss, replaced with a love unconditional. If there was a person stronger than any damned deity of the Forgotten Realm, it was Yevon Lis Meouch-Zutar, his most wonderful wife and friend.

“C’mon, landlubber.” She twisted out of his arms only to grip his wrist, unfailingly unapologetic as she pulled him along. “Gotta make a good first impression when we set anchor down. What happened to your nice coat, Ry? The navy one, gold stitching.” Not a question, Ryder realized all too quickly. A threat.

Loosing a whistle he cut his eyes away in an instant, blushing guiltily. “Gods, woman, I don’t know.” Oh but he  _ did _ know. He had bled all over it during a bar fight a few months ago, then pushed it under the bed where no one would find it until he found a suitable tailor. 

Which… hadn’t happened yet, was all.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know?!’ I bought that for you, you prick.” They pushed the door open in tandem, walking the sun washed deck arm in arm. Around them rose a cheery chorus of ‘hullo captain’’s and ‘first mate Yev!’’s as the other crew members hurry-scurry-ran around. “Do you know how many notes that went for?” She glared.

Ryder made a humming sound, relishing the salty breeze that pushed off the ocean and into his heart. Home, the waves told him. Home, home, home. “Sounds to me like you overpa- YEOW!”

Said yelping had been prompted by the sharpest of love tappings, Yevon’s fingers glancing off the back of his skull. “Save the wit for the gambling halls, lover. It doesn’t suit us.” She purred, a perfect mix of saccharine sweet and rose thorned.

Coming ashore was always such a strange ordeal. Busy but well oiled. Perfectly timed chaos. All the people he trusted doing their required part. He couldn’t help but pause though in the middle of the deck as the gulls wheeled abovehead, the action making his partner draw up short. “What?” The teasing gleam in her dark eyes was fading _ fast. _ She knew. She always rutting knew. Some kind of sixth sense or intuition. Favored by Oghma, he always liked to joke. “Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about  _ that _ .”

Her brow was furrowed worriedly and Ryder could feel his reflecting it. “I’ve had a bad feeling ever since we took this trade, Yev.” It was far too grand of a payout for how long it had been floating on the market. It  _ reeked _ of desperation and need. But so had they. And while it had been easy enough to forget about as they braved the waters, they were now approaching their destination and he didn’t know what was worse. 

The thing hidden away in the hull, or the lurking thing inside.

Yevon gripped his chin and pulled him down to face her. “Hey now. Steady.” She whispered firmly as her dark eyes went roving, each word an accidental kiss of sorts. “No one’s the wiser and we should keep it that way, Meouch.”

She could mean one thing or the other, but the point was, Yev was right. He had known most of these men and women his entire life, but that didn’t mean that they were impervious to some gold passed under the table or some gods awful blackmailing. “I know.” He put his hands over hers. To anyone else, they would look as they always did, inseparable, inflamed in passion, unstoppable. The perfect wife and husband. But this was Ryder’s own careful anchoring. His collecting of his own thoughts and self. They were so close. He just had to keep it together for a little while longer now…

“I know.” He exhaled slowly. “I know.”

~

_ I know. _ Elysium inhaled quickly.  _ I know. _

Blood was everywhere, which in of itself was already extremely problematic, but it was made worse by the fact that it was floating up and away from him, reaching towards the sky...

Hiraeth was a writhing-gasping mess as Ely laid his hands upon them, brow coming to a hard slant.  _ I know. I know. I know.  _ He kept saying, coming up short on anything else that could be more helpful or encouraging other than that, sweat pouring off of his brow.  _ I know. I know. _

_ I know you know, you bastard.  _ Hiraeth pleaded through the gritting of their teeth.  _ So do something about it already. Come on. _

The thing was that he, well… he already was. He was just trying to find the source of the injury. Bind it, he told himself. Mend it. Put it back where it came from.  _ I know. _ He said again, but this time it was  _ different.  _ Softer. Seeking. Akin to a cupping of hands slowly being held out.  _ It’s calling, isn’t it?  _

Like to like. 

Blood to blood. 

_ Do not fault me. _ It wasn’t Hiraeth speaking but something else. Of Mirtul and Uktar simultaneously. A dying rebirth.  _ This is not my home.  _

_ But it is.  _ Elysium told it sternly.  _ You’re Hiraeth’s. _

_ We both know that is false. _

Visions accosted him as the scent of blood grew heavier. Great figures cutting across grassy plains, laughter made brassy and golden under the twilight. Glassy rain. Fallen stars like snowflakes. Arborea, the trees sang in a hundred tongues. The Olympian Glades.

_ I am of Ghaele.  _ It told him. _ Of Eladrin. Of tearing wind and screaming skies. Of Glory and Hunting- _

_ Oh, fuck  _ off _ with that. _

The blood faltered in it’s rising, as if it had misheard him. Fuck was, after all, one of those rare words that was not used lightly, such as “rut” and “curses” and “god damn”.  _ Blood Crier.  _ It chastised, emphasizing his title as if to guilt him or win his favor somehow. _ Perhaps you do not understand-  _

_Oh,_ _I understand alright._ Elysium leaned back on his heels, unfazed. _Celestial Essence is always the same. Trying to get back to the source the first chance you get!_ Well, there were those rare occasions where it didn’t know any better. Those usually came from younger, softer gods. _I told you, you are Hiraeth’s now, not…?_ He chewed his lip as he discerned the lineage. _...Carl’s?_

_ Kaerl’s! It’s pronounced Care-ill.  _ The blood spluttered in incredulity.  _ Second hand to the Great Faerie Lords!  _

Ely loosed himself upwards as he dusted his baggy pants off. It was always titles and names with these bastards. Like it ought to matter to him, a nobody’s son, who had been named after an idea, a place on the Ever Turning Wheel.  _ Same difference. Now come on. You know the deal. _

It bent, sighing sadly as it began it’s descent back to the ground. Bind it. Mend it. Put it back where it came from. Crier’s Rites. The words he lived on.  _ Your time has not yet come _ , he tried his best not to recite in a bored tone,  _ but you will know when it has, for the Letting- _

_ I have been Let a hundred times over, Crier. I will never be fully whole. _

... _ And who’s fault is that?  _

It made a great show of bubbling angrily as it pooled in his palms, but otherwise stayed quiet. Because he was right. He always was. It wasn’t Hiraeth’s fault that his great, great, great one hundred times over grandfather had gone and stuck his prick literally everywhere. Wasn’t  _ any _ of their faults. They were simply Aasimar.

Thus was the plight of the god spawn.

It began to spill over, right into the open wound.  _ This is your home now. Your body. We live in your image until death calls. Lend us your strength. Your cunning. Your ardor. Make us your best selves. And we will Let you when we are old and dying.  _ He said sighing. _ When we are gods no more. _

Hiraeth’s spine arched but Elysium ignored it, watching as the spell took hold. Skin stitching, blood unspilling, body becoming whole.  _ Thank you. _ He pressed his bloody palms together and before bowing his head low. Always end it on a good note, his mother always told him, help the blood stay settled down. 

Having finally caught their breath Hiraeth sat up, poking their fingers into their side as if they would find the wound still gaping there bloody and raw.  _ Stop that!  _ Elysium slapped at it, worry and anger spearing through him.  _ Do I even  _ want _ to know?  _

Ever unfazed, Hiraeth simply shook their creamy hair out, annoyingly calm in the face of being nearly bleeding out.  _ Don’t get so prickly, Ely. It was some damned pickpocket. Probably got it into their head they were slowing me down. _ Relief sighed through him. Not planned, then. Thank the Wheel for that.  _ But thank you, truly, though one has to wonder if it helped that it wasn’t of the mortal variety... _

He issued a soft laugh, unable to help himself as he grabbed their wrist and pulled them up again.  _ Sure. Think of it that way, Hiraeth. _

The important thing was that no one had seen, and that it was a job done well. While they weren’t of the Tiefling variety, the common folk still didn’t really know what they were, and the elders wanted to keep it that way.  _ You know. This just means you can’t leave my side now.  _ They smiled and it was far too inviting, causing Ely to flush hot.  _ We both know how clumsy I can be. _

_ Clumsy and unlucky are two very different things, Hir, _ Elysium said as he eyed their now empty belt, making a pathetic attempt to distract himself as he wiped his hands clean.  _ And I think you’re both. _

The worst thing about the situation was that they had to go out of their way to report this bastardous pickpocket to the nearest authority, if not for their sake but everybody else’s, and to live up to their good god child legacy.  _ I thought it was supposed to be safer here in the bigger towns and cities! More eyes to watch! _ Hiraeth complained miserably as they took the lead, fingers still poking.  _ He had some balls though! Came out of nowhere, quick as lightning the second you stepped away. Too craven to take on the two of us.  _

Was this what it was to be strangers in a strange land, so far away from hearth and home? While Hiraeth asking for them to spend even more time together had made Elysium both painfully shy and almost… uncomfortable... the other Aasimar had made a good point. 

They were a long way from those that they could most trust.

_ Yes, well. _ Despite the sudden violence, Mundus Muli was alive and thriving. Vendors hocking their wares in loud and booming exclamations as waifish children scampered around. Windows were flung open to let open the warm air and sunshine. And somehow, everyone smiling! So different from their quiet plane of existence in the Citadel. So…  _ exciting _ .  _ There’s all kinds. Then go and throw warrants into the pot, bribery... _

_ Egads!  _ Hiraeth covered their mouth, hiding their giddy laughter. They loved it, and it was almost too easy to forget that things were becoming increasingly one sided and awkward between them. Why couldn’t it  _ always _ be this easy?  _ Blackmail?  _ They offered up.

_ Oh, loads.  _ Elysium trailed off as he spied a guard done up in fine iron and leather who looked awfully bored all by his lonesome.  _ Now let’s give this man something to deal with- _

And that’s when he heard the sound.

It was a strange kind of piping, gusty and morose. “Come one, come all, to hear the tale. Of a child sired by wind and gale.” A smooth tenor joined in sonorously, coming as a total surprise. “Dressed in mist and dreams and such! With sweetest voice and sweeter touch. Crowned with dew and stormy eyes, she walked our world with wanting sighs. For she was Talos Borne but lacking. Soft.”

_ Oh by the Wheel. _ Hiraeth groaned.  _ What’s this one on about? _

Elysium clucked his tongue and trailed his eyes surreptitiously across the square. There. A Human bard sporting an out of season cloak, his instrument somehow even  _ more  _ ridiculous looking. He stood there cranking it with his left hand, playing with his right. A full body effort apparently. “Now soft, you say, uh-uh, no way!” He teased as his instrument continued to bellow along quite miserably, guided by his nimble key playing. “But that, my friends, brings us to the very. best.  _ part. _ ” 

His face became pure mischief as he teased on with a jester’s gravitas, to the point where Ely was sure it would split from deviousness and delight. “For Sune had gone! And stolen! His!  _ Heart!!! _ ”

Cue the bastard breaking down into the most god awful yet incredible solo in that moment, writhing along to it rhythmically, not rhythmically? Elysium wasn’t sure. Not a song of Aasimar then, but something far greater, and also  _ completely _ made up.  _ Gods. _ Hiraeth groaned, cutting Elysium’s amusement short.  _ Listen to that thing. How annoying. _

_I think it suits him. What else is he supposed to play? A lyre? A harp?_  
He didn’t even need to look at Hiraeth to realize how unnecessarily _defensive_ his words had been. Like he knew the strange man personally and owed him some kind of life debt. He heard Hiraeth give a startled noise, and when their eyes met, the other Aasimar looked hurt. Wounded even…

_ I’m sorry. _ He blurted.  _ I’m still worked up over the stabbing. My mind’s all out of sorts. _ He was lying through his teeth to his best friend when he had no reason to. And for what? A man. Some simple, singing man! Who had resumed his belting, of course; now detailing the amorous love affair, completely unabashed.

Hiraeth gave him a shrug, eyes distant as they angled their body towards the guard.  _ I’ll take care of it. Alone.  _ He added in a voice so cold it all but cast ice into Elysium’s very soul.

Gods. First he wanted Hiraeth to keep their distance and now, as he watched the other make off on their own, he was regretting it. Forget it, he told himself. Find a distraction. Don’t think about it.

And who better to distract him but the black haired bard man?

_ You know, Talos would strike you dead if he knew what you were singing about. _

The other male was just about to launch into the next verse when Elysium spoke into his head. The bard went very still upon hearing it, then quickly spun around. “Oh!” He gave a great big gasp. “Are  _ you _ the one doing that?” He marvelled. 

_ Guilty as charged. _ Elysium allowed himself a long, hard look as the other laughed. Bard man had impossible eyes, like raw amethyst, threaded through with gold. Fae eyes. Did he know? It was probably where the pull of his song came from if anything.  _ I can stop if it’s disconcerting, or if I’m distracting you.  _ He had a feeling it was fine though, given the lack of audience.

“Worry not! One would assume it’s how you communicate.” He went about stroking his impressive mustache, smiling a toothy grin. Seelie boy, Ely decided in that moment. Made of spun sugar and star fall. “Is that right, my good friend?”

_ Quite. _ He almost never spoke to strangers unless he had to, and yet this felt so oddly natural. Like how it ought to be with Hiraeth, a traitorous musing clawed it’s way into his head. Except he was Fae, Ely was quick to counter. They were naturally convincing and charismatic, even if they weren’t trying.  _ Especially _ when they were trying, he added to himself.  _ Your song was quite good too, despite it’s falsity.  _ He told the man with a half there smirk.

The Human didn’t even have the sense to look sheepish at the assertion. Instead, he appeared all too pleased that Elysium had put him on the spot. “Oh, clearly.” He flapped his hands, a light hearted gesture that spoke volumes of his character. “But who wants to hear of Talos and Umberlee’s toxic tanglings? That’s too  _ obvious _ .” The bard stepped closer and lowered his voice to an elated whisper, cocking his chin towards him. “Now star crossed lovers? The impossible? That’s the best kind of stuff.”

Gods, he could make your teeth rot. Elysium felt his smirk faltering, his face turning soft.  _ Well, if it’s love you want, why not the tale of Lady Red Hair and the Morning Lord? Stuff like that was- _

It happened before he  _ knew _ it was happening, even as Hiraeth called for him in his head. The Human taking his hands and clasping them; emanating a joy so profound it could inspire millions, smiling, smiling, gods damned smiling right at him.

_ Made for you…  _ Elysium gulped, rendered speechless and reeling by this... this pure being of light and Flamerule.

“You’re right. Absolutely.” Was he even  _ aware _ of what he was doing? Why did he feel so pleasantly warm? More importantly, why wasn’t Elysium pushing him away like he would Hiraeth? Fae. He told himself in a panic. It was the  _ Fae _ in him. That’s all. “It’s not so tragic, of course, as some others. But it’s rooted in truth! Genius! You’re the first person to give me any kind of feedback about my music ever since the disbanding of the College and I’m… well,” he turned quiet, mild, more dawn than midday. “I’m very thankful for that, good sir.”

It was as if his heart was in his throat as the other’s hands tightened around his unconsciously, thumping like a war drum. He felt his mouth drop open, his lips fall apart...

- _ ELYSIUM!- _

And there was Hiraeth right when he most needed him, trapping his words shut.

_ My apologies. My companion. _ He rocked back on heels, wincing pathetically. Their hands were still pressed close, somehow, fingers tangling.  _ We’ve just arrived and-  _ Gods, it didn’t matter. Shut up. Shut up!  _ Will you… will you be performing once more in the coming week? _ He flubbed.

The other’s eyes went saucer wide, gleaming violet, pale cheeks blushing soft. “More than likely.” He breathed back. “If  _ my _ companion doesn’t kill me in my slumber.”

_ You seem like the haunting type.  _ Elysium had to laugh, ignoring his friend’s nearing contempt, that they were  _ still _ clasped as one being.  _ An absolute poltergeist.  _

The other man cackled, earlier joy returning despite everything. “Oh, most definitely. The afterlife won’t know what hit it once I’ve arrived.”

Enter Hiraeth, looking more hellion than god spawn, with their teeth bared and brow drawn down. “Oh! Hullo!” The Human cheered, hands still twined with Ely’s, oblivious to the growing tension. “Would you look at the two of you!” He gasped, eyes shining. “Are you cousins? Brothers?”

Hiraeth’s mouth gaped open, fish like, and Elysium took that as their sign to go. _ Until next time…  _ He led in, unsure if keeping Hiraeth out of the conversation was helping or hurting them. The bard finally released him, bringing his hands back to himself as he fell into a flourished bowing of sorts before popping back up. 

“Sung. Lark Sung, at your service.” He winked. “Now don’t you go forgetting me!”

_ Never. _ It was a promise.

He didn’t think it was possible.

~

He had thought it was impossible.

He had made a promise, after all.

But he had already forgotten it.

He was forgetting everything.

Every name. Every face. Every word. Every song.

(The darkness. The killing. The drumming. The call.)

He was the only one left out of all of them now.

So he had to remember.

He had to hold on.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’ll _never_ guess what happened.” 

Lark spun into the room, coming _this_ close to launching Gurdy at Humble before catching himself. He stilled his body and came to a complete halt, grinning at his companion, who looked no less drunk than he had before. A typical evening for the two of them, then. “I was on the streets performing-”

“I heard.” Humble puckered his face up before issuing a yawn.

“When this… this…” How did one go about describing the rough ruby of his skin, the fine silver of his hair that came to a fine peak at his brow? Tiefling like, but different. Something unbelievable. “This nice gentleman comes up to me on the street, and you know what he says, Humble? He says-”

Humble yawned again, smacking his lips. “Stop that ruckus, you arse.”

“No, actually!” He finished putting Gurdy into her casing and approached his friend, hands on his hips as he grinned wildly. “He starts _lecturing_ me about the story, sure, but then he says it’s wonderful, and he gives me this splendid idea for a new one, which I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of before but you know what they say!” He sucked in a great big breath, having spent the last one already. “The best ideas are staring you right in the face. You’re just too blind to see them.” 

To say he had been reeling was an understatement. Just about everyone ignored him on the streets nowadays, save curious children, hopeful romantics, and any fumbling drunkard. The art of barding had been slowly dying for years now, to the point of colleges disbanding, found families drifting apart… the common folk turning to more tangible things. But Lark was certain he could bring it back. Rekindle their hearts. Inspire someone… anyone. “Oh.” He swooned onto the bed, rolling his body into Humble’s. “He loved it. He truly loved it, Humble.”

“Then where’s the coin, dear heart?” Humble tugged an errant lock of hair, causing him to flush.

“...He paid me in compliments and familiarity…” Which was fine, Lark told himself. More than fine, really!

Humble blinked slowly, then broke out into an awful smile. “His name, then, if you two are so familiar, Lark.”

The Human shot up with a cry of disbelief, outright astounded at himself. “Oh, damn it all, I forgot to ask him!” How _typical!_ “Don’t laugh, you bastard! You should have been there! You’re my wing man!” Lark shoved at his shoulder as Humble howled all too loudly, absolutely furious at himself for being so, well, so Lark like. “I mean, he’d be quite easy to spot.” He murmured against the swell of Humble’s shoulder once the other had settled down, again recalling the fine sculpt of the other, nearly ethereal in it’s making. “He’s one of those Aasimars.”

Humble made a surprised noise and curved his body towards Lark’s, fitting quite nicely, as he always had. “Really? You met one? I heard they like to stay quiet. Private, I mean. You sure he wasn’t something else?”

Lark took to his curiosity like a fish to water. “Two. I met two, if you can believe it. But this one’s eyes were endless black, Humble. Like two coal pits.” 

And yet the shape of his mouth had been pleasantly sharp, like a favored blade of sorts if he had to describe it, catching in the sun. “-And he spoke in my head.”

“How was that then?” Humble sounded mystified and it had Lark grinning.

“Bloody brilliant.”

Humble scoffed, but there was no missing the pleased humor in his eyes. “Leave it to you to get caught up in something like this. They still don’t know where they came from.” His voice dropped, as if someone was listening right outside their door. “Just that they’re very powerful. Not of this world.”

“Well-” Lark began, all too eager to discuss plane walking and Wheel turning and all things possible, only for a great slamming to start up down below, startling both of them. “Oh gods, now _that’s_ a ruckus.” He moaned. “What’s going on down there?” 

Humble sighed and Lark realized that there must be something telling in his face to issue such a response. “Oh, what’s all that huffing and puffing for?” He teased, huffing and puffing himself even as Humble showed him his back.

“Because _you’re_ going to go down there and ask what’s going on, even if I tell you it’s a bad idea.” Humble told the wall sullenly, folding his arms tight across

“You don’t know that!” Except he was completely _right_ , the bastard. Every thump of his rabbit heart was telling him to go. “I might go peek. That’s different, Humble, don’t make that face.”

“Urgh! You’re so _obvious_!” Humble somehow managed a well placed kick to his bladder without even looking, missing his privates by the grace of several kind gods. Lark grunted, but rolled away on the rebound, just a tad bit breathless but otherwise completely fine.

“But you love me.” He said on a trill before he brushed his lips against Humble’s warm temple and jumped out.

Peering oh-so-sneakily around the corner of the stairs, a feat already given how much this place creaked and groaned, Lark found the normally empty mess hall of the Red-Tailed Hawk teeming with a rough kind of sort. “Pirates.” He breathed in amazement, eyeing their scarred skin and patchwork clothing. What else could they be? Pirates! In Mundus Muli! Whatever in all of Faerun could be happening?

“Lark Sung.” Someone called sharply, breaking his reverie. “Just who I was looking for.”

Bugger all. Of all the times to be caught peeking...

“Oh, Tilly! Good to see you! Quite the congregation down there!” He put on his best ‘you have to love me’ smile as he came face to face with the older inn keeper. “S’been a while since you’ve had business like this. How for- _tuitous!_ Anyways, if this is about this week’s payment, I’m only waiting for Boris to get back to me for the work I did on his roof-” Street performing was _not_ the main source of income for himself and Humble, unfortunately. Rather, they were known around the village as the Fixer-Uppers. Come to them with any problem, any size, they’d get it done before supper time. “He’s good for it, I’m good for it, it’s... well. You know!”

“Oh, bother the money, come here son.” She took the stairs two at a time, nearly flying at him. “I need you out of here. Immediately.”

He blinked and attempted to reprocess what she had said, quite certain he hadn’t heard Tilly right. “I’m sorry?” Lark said after an incredible pause, unable to keep the astonished voice crack out of his response.

She looked instantly apologetic. “Bah. I started that the wrong way. I’m losing my mind! Pack yourself and Humble up and come to my house. These bastards are buying the place out for the rest of the month. No other guests or customers allowed for the time being.” She couldn’t be serious. How? What in the nine hells was going on? “Please don’t be upset, Lark. Their captain isn’t to be trifled with. He’s a very big deal. Now come on.”

He wasn’t mad. He was _excited_ , his blood singing with it. He was going to write meeting the Aasimar man off as his grand and fantastic thing, but this was very clearly what he had been waiting for. “He paid you up front?” He stage whispered as she began to bustle him up the remainder of the stairs. “Gold or notes?”

“Notes. Loads of them.” She answered immediately in her panic. “Enough to keep me well fed for the next year, probably.” Here Humble had called _him_ obvious but this bastard was really stealing the show. Notes were quick and easy. Hush money. “And they’ve all got weapons, so get that look off your face, Lark Sung. I know this is quite the putting out but there’s not much else that can be done.”

“I don’t care about that.”

He grabbed her hands and it was nothing like with the Aasimar. That had been spur of the moment, and strangely extraordinary. For their hands fit perfectly, like they had been made for that. “Tilly, what if they wreck the place? You wouldn’t want that, would you? Let me keep an eye on them. In secret, of course.” He added the last part with a sheepish wince, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious. 

He _did_ care about Tilly and would raise hell on her behalf, but in reality he wanted, needed, to know what was happening. “It’s not even worth asking Humble, I’ll tell you that right now. He said in a great big rush. “But the last thing you’d want is them making this place a gods damn opium den.”

Her stern face faltered and he knew he was getting through to her. “You’ve known us for nearly two years. I couldn’t bear the thought of Ilana’s legacy going to shit.” Bringing Tilly’s late wife into the conversation was the lowest bar he could aim for, but he was going all out. “I’ll be smart. Careful. They won’t even know we’re associated.” 

This had to work. It just _had_ to.

And by Tymora, it did. Tilly closed her eyes and heaved a heavy sound. “I’ll kill you if they don’t kill you first, you arse.” She smiled tiredly, squeezing his fingers in a tight but loving threat. 

“Now you sound like Humble.” He giggled and that got her face to lift.

They took the rest of the stairs quietly. Here came the hardest part. Convincing no nonsense Humble that this was a good idea. They entered the room together and it took all but one look from both Lark and Tilly for him to sigh and sit up. Tilly, bless her heart, went about explaining the situation as Lark quietly packed up, but the second she got to his staying Humble drew in a breath and whipped around. “You can’t be serious.” He said after a beat, words an angry hiss. “What do you think you are? Some kind of knight in shining armor? A rutting _spy_?”

Tilly made a warning noise but quietly excused herself, seeming to understand this was a private matter for the two of them. Lark felt his mouth open, a million reasons rushing to his tongue, only for Humble to stalk up to him and shut him up. The Halfling only came up to his waist but his rage was so tremendous it made him seem ten feet tall. “Don’t start. Don’t you gods damn _start_ .” He seethed through his teeth. Lark couldn’t tell if he had sobered up or if he was still too damn drunk at this point. “This isn’t some bullshit song from our childhood, Lark. Tilly’s worked up for a reason. They have money. Weapons. The resources to bury you. And maybe, gods, just maybe-” He threw back his head with a wild laugh. “This isn’t _that_ important. This isn’t anything to do with you for once.”

Lark threw his hands out, incredulous. “And that’s what I'm trying to find out, Humble! We owe that to her.”

“What did I _just_ say!” There were tears in his eyes, hot and angry, spit flying from his mouth. “Can’t it ever be normal?! Not some rutting story to tell? Damn it all, do you _hear_ yourself?” He made a wet and angry sound, rolling his eyes. “‘We owe it to her.’ That’s a fucking excuse and we both know it, you arse.”

Based in truth, Lark could feel hot embarrassment spear through him, spilling fast across his face in furious crimson. He had multiple reasons. Why couldn’t Humble see that? “And for what? So you’ll have a hero's song to your name, finally? A tale to spin?” He threw an ugly smile his way, pinning Lark right to the spot.

“I’m not-” He started to insist only to be cut off.

“But you are!” Humble snapped hysterically, and Lark could tell he was trying his best not to break down and sob. Hadn’t they just been laughing? Pressed together without a second thought? “Gods! You are _not_ a legend in the making! You are not some hero reborn! Every rutting song we sang as children was a joke, Lark. When are you… Gods, when are you going to grow up!?”

So _this_ was heartbreak. This is what he always sang about. Even when his adoptive family had drifted apart, there was always Humble at his side and the hope that they’d be together once more. That very hope had him singing every day to keep his voice strong and healthy. Got him to pick up instruments where and when he could, even if they were too expensive and seemingly impossible to learn. That’s why he always asked, always pushed, always had hoped and prayed…

Greatness awaited them. The College of Lore could be reborn. If they just had to keep trying... 

They just had to reach out.

“Well.” His throat felt painfully tight, his eyes wet and stinging. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Humble.” Except he had, hadn’t he? The drinking. The avoidance. Acceptance. Nothing more and nothing less. “I’m… sorry.” He managed out.

Humble scoffed and made to push past him, radiating fury and disbelief. “You’re sorry for all the wrong reasons, Lark. Humble told him as he walked out the door, leaving him there all alone as tears began to fall. “Good rutting luck.”

~

This would do.

It would have to.

Ryder watched the procession of able bodied crew members as they hauled their belongings through the inn door, wishing he hadn’t already gone through his pipe tobacco. A month, he had told the innkeeper when he paid her, when in reality they’d be out of here in no time. Which yes, was an unspoken hope of his, if he was being honest with himself; all dependent on their damned buyer, the enigmatic, fickle arse-

“One anticipates there’s a master bedroom.” Yevon arched her eyebrows with a provocative turn of her lips, masterfully balancing two wooden cases on her broad shoulders without breaking a sweat. Her amusement was gone as soon as it came though, her nostrils flaring with a long and damning sigh. “...What’re you still doing out here, Ry?”

“I want to be the one to handle this.”

 _This_ being the rutting coffin they had procured on the other side of the continent; made of dark wood and chained thrice over with an ancient iron padlock. No Fae involved, he had to assume, with precautions like that. But the price. The place. The dread he felt. 

It meant something, by Savras, it had to. 

Something strange and dangerous. 

She shifted the dual weights with another hefty sigh, but her face was one of understanding as she stepped off. “I’ll get everyone settled in then.” She assured Ryder before batting her eyelashes in a girlish fashion. “Warm the bed, even, if you’d like.”

Despite the circumstances he had to chuckle at that, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek before making his way over to the carriage. The air here smelled better than it had coming in, more pine and wind than sweat and sewage, and yet so _different_ from the salt and brine he knew as his true home.

Ryder took a slow moment to breathe and take in the proud trees, the muddy pathways, the stone and wooden homes. In a blink it was burning. 

In a blink it was his fault. 

_You found this. You took this. You greedy, awful thing._ The coffin seemed to pulse and he could swear he could feel his temple twinge in tandem. _You saw fit to unearthing something that had been hidden for ages. Revealing a memory that everyone should have forgot._

Ryder drew in a sharp breath and pushed past the pain. He could hear Yevon’s soft voice chastising him. _You’re being a pessimist, Ry. No. Scratch that. A fatalist, love._ And she was right, probably, it was just as likely that it was no more than a rotting skeleton that someone wanted for closure, all dust and fading clothes.

But even that miniscule reassurance couldn’t stop him from casting one last wary glance around before grasping the bottom of the coffin with his ragged palms. Focus. Not too much, not too little Meouch. Just _enough_. Enough strength to carry this through the door and to the basement without anyone noticing. Enough to get the job done. “Don’t be a bastard.” He whispered fiercely, so hushed not even the trees could hear him. “Don’t make it obvious.”

Thrice he had done this now and this would be the last. The thing in him peeked it’s head up, dark and sleek, and smiled gleefully at the action. Oh this again, it seemed to purr. A means to prove itself. “Don’t start.” He said under his breath before he heaved the coffin up.

On any other day, he’d be damned proud of his crew causing such immediate chaos. They had already cracked their stores open and kicked their boots off. But not today. Not now, at least. “Move it, move it.” He ordered over the laughter, spitting out a hearty curse as he failed to blindly navigate and almost tripped over himself. “I’ll cut your share if you don’t rutting listen, damn it. No. I’ve _got_ it.” He barked the second he felt someone reach over, all but chewing their head off. 

“Gods, get that shit put away and start drinkin’, captain. Sounds like you’re in need of one.” That would be Tauril sniping at him, the bitch, the half elf’s mouth pulled into a cruel smirk. She was one of his least favorite crew members and the thing inside him was all too aware. Told him to cut her over her insolence. Told him to make her pay for it over and over again.

He stayed quiet and kept moving, ignoring her. Ignoring the thing purposely. Find the basement. Put it down. Find the basement. Get the job done. The captain had to keep it in simple terms or he’d lose himself. The thing inside of him was fully awake now and traipsing through his head, pressing it’s nails into his heart. _Make them know you,_ it chuckled thickly, becoming more and more distinct. _Make them know fear._

Distantly, he realized he _was_ in the basement already. When had he gotten here? Better yet, when had he put the coffin down and dug his aching nails into it, trying to pry the lock apart? _Something is in there,_ the thing whispered in a frenzy as his nails began to crack. _Something wicked. Something dreadful._

 _Something just like_ us.

“Ry!”

There was blood in his mouth. A bending in his spine. The thing had dug it’s claws into his very being and was moments from getting out. He spun around and bared his teeth in defiance, only to still as he witnessed who was watching him. Yevon, oh Yevon, his heart mate, half dressed in his own clothing to boot. Her eyes were dark and she had a blade drawn, and the thing in him hated her for all those things. “Everyone’s waiting for you.” Half threat, half warning, all hidden in plain sight. “Why don’t you come up and join us, sweetheart?”

Yes. No. He could hear himself _growling_. Gods, you idiot, listen to your wife. “Don’t make me drag you up here.” There was no humor to be found in her eyes. Her tone. It was a brittle command and instantly shamed him to his core. “That’d be embarrassing.”

“...Right…” What did he look like now? Feral. Beast like. He knew how he could get. “I… don’t know if I can.” He was forced to admit when his body refused to move the way he wanted it to, letting out a weak and wary whine. “It’s bad, Yev. Really, really bad this time.”

Her face crumpled before she began to make her way to him. “Oh Ry.” Despite her anguish, she was still smart enough to keep her blade drawn and he loved her for it, even as the thing inside him growled. It had tried to hurt her, once long ago, and he had woken up with rope cutting into his ankles, his wrists, his _throat_. “This has been hard, hasn’t it?” She murmured, dove soft.

Yes. A hundred times yes. There was no place to run wild and sate yourself when you were all boarded up. “But you’ve done so well already. You’re always better than that part of you, love.”

Was he? “Am I?” He echoed his own thoughts. Holding a full conversation could be taken as a sign of that, he had to suppose. “Still. I feel like I’m losing it.” He confessed, shuddering with the admission.

Her feet touched the ground before him and he could _feel_ her watching him. “‘Feels like’ is leagues different from already losing it, Meouch. You’re with me. You’re talking. Thinking.” She leaned in close and she smelled like home. “You’re beating it. You’re winning now.”

It gave a great long hiss but slunk back at her words. “Gods, Yev.” He whimpered when her fingers touched his jaw, cupping it. “This thing…”

“Which thing?” She mused as she began to pet his hair, brushing the sweat damp locks off his forehead.

He wanted to laugh but he could only choke on the sound. “Both of them.” He told her. “Both.”

Upstairs no one was the wiser. Upstairs was a warmer, kinder world. “We could still go back.” He had to strike fast to convince her to be done with all of this. To turn the gods damned situation on it's head. “Put it back where it came from. Bury it again.” 

“And risk mutiny?” Gods, anything _but_ common sense right now from her, anything but that. “Risk having that man hunt us across every gods damned continent? Ryder. I’ve seen it now. I believe you. I’m sorry I brushed you off.” But, he could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes even, moments from being born. But, but, but. “But soon this will all be over and it will be something we never have to think about again.”

Out of sight, out of mind they always said.

But, but, _but._

“But what if this isn’t the ending.” He spoke into the silence that then spanned between them in a wrecked whisper, so certain this was his last chance. “What if this is the start?”

This could be all their faults. Believe me, he wanted to beg her as she faltered, no matter how desperate or mad it made him come off. Stay with me now. Do the right thing. Yevon had seen the way it had taken a hold of him even through the chains and padlocking, this close to pulling the beast out of him. "It was buried for a reason." Ryder was still rasping, not a breath to be found in any part of him. “And I-”

"First mate. Captain."

His luck truly had run empty hadn’t it? Beshaba’s antlers gored into him instead, leaving him to bleed out...

Tauril's shadow was slim but reaching as it fell over them, hip half cocked out, smugness pouring off of her. Bitch, the last of the creature inside of him commented as it curled away, and he wasn’t hard pressed to disagree this time around. "So sorry to interrupt." She said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "But I think you’ll want to see this."

~

In all his years, Elysium couldn't remember a time where Hiraeth had ignored him.

It wasn't a fight because Aasimar did _not_ fight, which was more or less an unspoken rule for their kind. The celestial blood flowing through their veins should prompt them to be better, to use words instead of actions, and to act with grace and justice and good tidings or some other bullshit. 

Not that anyone would ever speak against those sentiments, not even the most free willed and mischievous of them.

He understood it though, almost, nearly, half and half. If he was Hiraeth and Hiraeth had pulled what he had, he _would_ be furious. But he was not Hiraeth Wind Cleaver, third of their name, borne to the legacy of Eladrin and Ghael, child of Kaerl first and foremost, a true Aasimar. No. He was Elysium Blood Crier, first and last of his name, borne to blood and bound to duty, son of no one, apparently.

He didn’t operate as they did, paradoxical in the way they loved so blithely but with all their heart, acting so fickle and yet so constant. His blood wasn’t humming with some restless and enduring spirit that was keen to get back to the source. No. Elysium was Human first and then Aasimar.

And that’s where everything turned to shit of course.

They liked to blame his mother, Venia, for that inconvenience. A foul mouthed cleric who had raised Elysium on her own in secret and taught him the “true” healing arts. And while he had not been born under fortunate circumstances, as she liked to call them, she never loved him any less for it. If anything, she loved Ely more, and wanted the best for him.

 _Enjoy Mundus Muli!_ She wrote in her latest letter to him before their parting. _Visit the beaches first and foremost. Lay yourself under the stars on your first night and write back of what you dream, my sweet heart. Be awful. Be incorrigible. Be your best self. I love you always, just as you should love yourself._

Elysium wanted nothing more than to make good on his mother’s wishes, but responsibilities came first. That and breaking the strained hush that had fallen over the both of them. So the moment they both stepped into their too small room at the temple Ely dumped his knapsack on the ground and pounced. _Start talking. Now._

The element of surprise didn’t work. Hiraeth didn’t so much as blink, opting instead to let the silence grow until it was roaring as they shucked their boots off. _Fine. I’ll talk._ Elysium pried into their head, not willing to let it drop. _I’m sorry if I offended you earlier, truly, but that was never my intention._ And it’s not fair, he came this close to adding before he caught himself, to hold something against me that I haven’t even consented. _It’s not an excuse, but we didn’t have the smoothest start upon arriving here, and then I just-_

Finally, that got him something. Hiraeth whipped around, their painstakingly complex plait coming loose with the action. _Just what? Went to go flirt with the local bard and so you could ignore me?_ They shot with a sneer.

They could _not_ be serious. Ely clamped his lips together, lest his incredulous laughter slip out on accident. _You said you wanted to be alone, so I left you alone, alright? Should I simply stand there with my thumb up my arse next time?_ No, Hiraeth truly did not get to do this. What a load of horse shit. _Is that what you want?_

They opened their mouth then closed it, slim jaw coloring, and that was all he needed. A crack in the door. A chink in their armor. A mere second to slip in. _Listen. I’m not- I’m not some kind of idiot. I’m very aware of your… feelings._ It felt like self flagellation to admit it but there was no better time than the present. Why not now rather than down the road when neither of them was ready for it? _And as of right now, I don’t return them in the same way, Hiraeth, but I…_

But I don’t want to do this without you. To find countless unknowing god spawn only to send them on their way to the Citadel to be Reawakened. To cross cities and oceans and forests all by his lonesome. Elsyium looked to them then desperately, words failing him, only to find Hiraeth’s face turned down. _I miss my closest friend. My most trustworthy companion._ These were not the words that Hiraeth wanted to hear, Elysium realized, but he had nothing else to give them. 

When he saw Hiraeth he saw nothing _but_ friendship. There was no kindling spark. No breathless rush. No need to rid himself of his clothes and do something about it. There was simply trust and platonic affections. _...My partner in crime._ He offered quietly, swallowing against the rising lump in his throat. Don’t let me lose them. Don’t let this be what breaks us apart.

_Oh, by the Wheel, stop with the titles you shit head._

A wet laugh popped like a bubble inside his head, and then another one, and without any kind of warning Hiraeth was hugging him. As a friend should, Elysium realized after a stunned moment, nothing sensuous behind it. _Here you are about to start crying when I’m the one being rejected._

 _Prick_ . Ely returned the embrace eagerly, surprise receding. _Not everything’s about you…!_

 _Oh, you bastard._ Hiraeth made a big show of baring their teeth, as if to threaten him. _You best sleep with one eye open, because you know what they say about a scorned heart._

Elysium shut his eyes and groaned as Hiraeth finally released him. _You’re going to keep making jokes about this, aren’t you?_ He harrumphed.

_Better that than moping around, honestly._

See, he wanted to shout at that earlier, turned traitor part of himself. It _could_ be easy. It didn’t have to be hard. _In all honesty,_ Hiraeth drawled, plucking him out of his aggrieved musings with a whisk of their hands, eager to move on with it. _We should figure out what the plan is for tonight_.

 _Besides getting robbed again?_ Elysium fell onto his own bed with a low groan, stretching his cramped and aching limbs out. _Decent beds for a temp- OW!_

Hiraeth hummed innocently, acting as if they _hadn’t_ just nearly broken one of his kneecaps. _I think it’s time to Call._

He went still. Swallowed. Tried not to swear or appear too obvious. _So soon?_ He pushed up on his elbows in what he hoped was a casual fashion, cocking his head to the side. _You don’t want to, you know, learn the lay of the land? Get around a bit?_

He wasn’t thinking about any of that though. He was thinking about a stranger with wild hair, a winning smile, gold and violet eyes... 

_Trust me, I want nothing more than to stick around and have some fun without any Elders telling us what is proper and not, but you said it yourself._

His smooth voice. His warm hands. Everything about him a mystery...

_Calling’s a given at this point, Ely. Our best bet. Besides, there’s far grander places than Mundus Muli out there, even if it’s matron blessed. Places we can’t even begin imagine-_

_Venia._ He blurted frantically. _Venia wanted me to visit the beaches. To write down everything._ Not a lie, this time. Not even an exaggeration. Bless his mother, truly bless her for giving him this chance even if she hadn’t meant it. _...I’ve also never used my powers twice in a day. I’m not sure…_ Again, this wasn’t a lie. For all they knew Elysium could do everything, perhaps even simultaneously. The Letting. The Mending. The Calling. The Weeping. But no one had ever tried it in their written histories. 

Not even he.

 _They were already so kind and gracious to lend us the room for the night._ Elysium lowered his lashes, really laying it on thick. He just needed to see Lark Sung once more, to get some kind of answers as to why he was so drawn to him, or at least get him out of his head. _I’ll be well rested tomorrow and ready to Call. I promise._

He could feel Hiraeth’s eye on him raking down. They loved his mother. Loved him. This victory would be his. _She would._ Hiraeth finally released on a sigh. _I remember you mentioning it now. And you’re also right, about the sleep thing. The last thing I want is-_ And despite his admission, despite Hiraeth agreeing to it, there was still something hopeful gleaming there. A quelled version of their earlier, wanting heat. _For you to be hurt._

Ely bowed his head, stomach curling with guilt. This truly was the pinnacle of Human selfishness, was it not? Lying. Taking. Twisting words up. _Thank you._ How could his voice be so calm when he was flat out using his best friend? He forced himself to touch their shoulder lightly, turn his mouth up in a casual grin. _Before we take supper can I… Can I braid your hair?_

They smiled and it was so sweet, so innocent that it physically almost hurt him. _Please. It’s been so long. I’ll grab my brush-_ He began to prattle on, turning his back long enough for Ely’s own smile to falter, fall… 

Tomorrow, there would be no more lying between them, Elysium told himself. Tonight would be the end of it.

~

There was an elephant in the room.

Quite literally.

He was almost thankful for the ridiculous sight that was the Loxodon woman that now sat among them, but he was still recovering from his earlier anxiety, his near losing of himself. Still. Her strangely petite presence came as an unexpected balm. She almost appeared… dainty in a way. Sweet and feminine. “It is a pleasure, Captain Meouch.” She murmured in a honeyed voice, long lashes feathering onto her leathery skin, painted in curling lines of white and gold. “To meet you finally.”

This was _not_ his buyer. In fact, this was no one he had had the pleasure of meeting before. The look on all their faces must have been telling enough because she threw her trunk up with a great tittering laugh. “Oh, that’s a familiar face alright. Not the first and not the last I’ll see.” She flapped her ears amusedly, her gracious smile giving away to something more mischievous. “Perhaps I should start by introducing myself…”

Yevon’s nostrils flared and Ryder had to check himself before he broke out into a rough snort. Please and thank you is what _that_ look meant, but they both knew better than to push it. The Loxodon woman sat a little straighter and tipped her head to the side. “I am a matron of Mundus Muli, first and foremost, but my common name is Synthea Lost-Tusk, if you would so like.”

All of his breath went and punched out of him at her words. A matron of Mundus Muli in the flesh, sitting before him! Ryder fell into a hasty prostration, knees barking in protest. “Gods.” He swore under his breath, hearing everyone else follow through immediately. Only Yevon was left standing, her body arrow straight, quivering…

“Oh no, no, please none of that!” She waved her large arms around, nearly knocking over a pile of their supply keeps for the month. “There is a reason I came here without all of the usual pomp and circumstance. I was looking to speak to you candidly, Ryder. Yourself and…” Her gaze fell upon Yevon and he heard his wife shudder quietly. “Your fine partner, of course.”

To have a matron asking after them personally. They were… fluctuant. Sometimes there were three. Sometimes there was simply one. Sometimes there were fifty. A hundred more. They were ever shifting like the tides and their purpose was just as nebulous. They were known as some of the finest healers, the most talented inventors, the fiercest warriors and knowledgeable of archivists, and that was just the start.

They were also known as witch women to others, their influence and powers seemingly far too grand to be of the mortal realms. Feared moreso than any other sorcerer or wizard or warlock because of their claims. Some even said that they were Mundus Muli itself, reshaped and reborn...

“You look so young.” He heard Yevon saying, voice no more than a whispered reverence. Her comment caused Synthea to giggle as her cheeks darkened with a pleased flush.

“And _you_ are far too kind.” Her eyes were alight, a near match for the deep blue jewel resting upon her broad forehead. “I am one of the youngest of our current sect, but that’s not very interesting, and definitely not what I came to speak of! Now come, come… Outside, if that’s alright?”

She didn’t wait, the floorboards bending dangerously under her weight as she stood up. He took the time though to stand up nice and slowly and reorient himself. Caught between a matron and a coffin, it seemed. What god had he pissed off?

It was getting darker now as they stalked outside together, the sky taking on a deeper hue before jumping into the flames of sunset. “Goodness. I always forget that most places such as these don’t necessarily… have larger folks such as myself in mind.” Synthea said with a curl of her trunk, not so much disgruntled as she was amused by the inconvenience. “Then again, the lack of accommodations falls upon our shoulders for being so squirreled and away and mysterious. No one makes a building thinking oh, this will have to house someone that’s eight feet tall and nearly four hundred pounds!” 

She trumpeted out a laugh and Ryder felt his own mouth turn up slightly despite everything. She was… strangely relatable. Spoke like a commoner with a flair of sophistication here or there, making her seem more exotic than unapproachable the more she talked. “Pardon. One moment while I…” Without any kind of warning she fell onto her bottom, flowy dress billowing up around her with yet another easy laugh. “Ah, much better. Sit. Sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Only he cast a glance back at the inn. Yevon was transfixed. She kept looking at Synthea like she was truly a goddess reborn. “Yev.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently, letting his calluses slide over hers. “C’mon.”

She took his lead and together they sat there on their knees, facing the grand Loxodon. “Now, I will be frank.” She began. “There’s no sense in making small talk when there will be more than enough time for that later. I come to you to speak truth and warning, Yevon Lis Zutar and Leon Ryder Meouch.”

He went stiff all over. Forced himself to breathe…

Only Yevon knew his true name. That and his mother.

“I am an oracle. A seer of many possibilities. That is the gift given to me by the gods.” Of course she knew his first name then. She was a prophet. A woman that could see everything down into the very depths of his soul, even _that_ thing he tried so hard to hide from everyone. “There are many things I cannot say, a veil that I must draw, but your coming here to these shores and lands was expected. Was something we were waiting for.”

“We?” Their voices overlapped, his and Yevon’s, ever in sync no matter what. Synthea inclined her head to them before bowing her face low, readying herself.

“Yes. Many. Some without names or faces.” Yevon’s hand tightened in his and Ryder was inclined to squeeze hers back comfortingly. “Some that exist beyond our known planes, past the Great Wheel itself, past our very cosmology.”

“There are others like us. Those that have parts to play. Those that have the power to change the coming days.” Her voice had lowered to a twining cadence, ringing round for only them. “And there are those that exist to stop us, to keep us from our goal.”

Her face became unbearably sad then. Here was a young woman who had had something great thrust upon her soul. Something far greater than herself. Meouch knew that look. Found it upon his own face too many times when the nights got to be too long, when the beast tried to get out. “There are three others that need to be found. Three others that can change everything. You are one of them, Ryder.” Impossibly so, her face became more tragic as she let her trunk touch upon Yevon’s cheek, startling his wife. “And you, my dear, are not.”

~

“Are you’re certain…”

“Absolutely.”

He had Gurdy, his cloak, his belt bag as usual. A knapsack full of underclothes and something to change into, plus snacks and stuff. Everything a man could need as he faced the great unknown. “Before we even came here, me and Humble lived off the woodlands, Tilly. This isn’t going to be more than a few nights of me slunking around your humble quarters and hanging around town. I’ll be fine.”

They had finally finished packing everything away into Tilly’s barn. Humble was already inside, sleeping supposedly, which translated roughly into “avoiding him.” “I’ll let them settle, get comfortable, keep an ear out.” On and off for the next week or so until something happened. _If_ something happened, Humble hissed inside his head and Lark was more than half tempted to wave him off despite him not actually being there.

“Alright. You know where we are.” It had been quite the trip to get there by foot and wheelbarrow and now the sun was setting slow. Soon the firewisps would start to rise and the world would be coated in night magic, his favorite kind of stuff. “You’ve got enough food…?”

“I have enough food and money _for_ food, Tils.” Lark grabbed her weathered hands and kissed them. “Keep Humble off the bottle for me, that’s all I ask in return. And I promise you that I’ll come back before you’ve even had the chance to miss me.”

And then he was off. It’d take an hour tops. A near hour of nothing but himself and his thoughts. Bother… this was the worst part of being by yourself. Either he’d keep going back to how disappointed Humble had been in him, overhyping the reasoning behind the sudden appearance of pirates, or the Aasimar. “Or!” He threw the word violently skyward. “You could work on your song, you bloody idiot!”

A series of birds took to the sky and Lark took it as a sign of universal agreement. Grand. Gurdy stayed on his back though as he mulled through his lyrics, too heavy to handle as he traveled the path. Was he, Lark Sung, one of these grand heroes of lore? Destined to fight against the black moon night and all it held in store? Classic. Humble leered in his head the moment it had sprung forth. Can’t even sit this one out, can you Lark?

“To the nine hells with you, you prick.” Lark spat under his breath. Who else-what else then? Think think think. But not of strange pirates or handsome young men, as fun as that would be. He pushed at the inconsequentials and tried his best to look deep within. Who, he asked his heart, who would make the stand?

_Havve. Havve Hogan._

The Human blinked and came to an abrupt stop, realizing just as quickly that his heartbeat was thundering for no reason, filling his ears and chest up. Those words. That… name? Something about it felt so strange. Right and wrong simultaneously. The contradiction of it nearly caused his head to split wide open, skull squeezing tight and sharp.

“Never mind then.” He groaned, gritting his teeth until the pain pulled back. You didn’t question things when you invoked the wrong name, he had grown up learning, you just did away with it, put the thought away somewhere else. Too many powers and beings to accidentally piss off, his guardians had told him, so trust your gut sweet Lark.

Sometimes, his life before coming to Mundus Muli felt like a waking dream. A watercolor painting bleeding together in his very own memories. He hadn’t grown up with a mother or a father or anything like that. The College had more or less been his guardians as they travelled all of Faerun, each one a little different from the last. Teaching him to sing, to juggle, dance. How to draw a song out from the pianoforte and string a harp back up. They taught him how to sew his own clothing and reshoe a horse. Even how to properly speak to the Fair Folk. 

There had been Dwarves and Elves, Tortles and Lizardfolk, Tritons and Bugbears and Kenkus, even Tieflings and all other sorts. That was the thing he remembered most about growing up. That there had been no judgement for who or what you really were. 

Because to be a Bard meant to put love out into the world no matter what.

The first of the firewisps had started to come out and play as night drew nearer, blanketing the air in a soft iridescent glow. (hellohellohello) they chanted against his ear, tangling in his hair, dancing at his toes. (sungsungsung) they chimed (larklarklark)

Most didn’t trust the firewisps. Some said they were lost spirits who had not yet found the afterlife. Others said they were the eyes of the gods. No one knew their true origins. Not even the Fae. Lark loved them though, growing up listening to their strange secrets and quiet harmonies. He fished a few out from beneath his cloak, bringing them up to his face. “And who told you that?” He asked.

(starsandtreesandwindandsky) they chorused over one another, tumbling around in his palms excitedly (hopesanddreamsandmemories)

“I see.” He hummed on a smile. “And what else did they say?”

(thatsomethingiscoming)

(somethingiscoming)

(somethingsomethingsomething)

A hush fell over them.

In fact, the whole world went quiet. No insects buzzed. No birds weeped. Not a thing moved in the underbrush or through the trees. Mundus Muli existed on an inhale that feared to loose itself out.

(bewary) they whispered softly, a hundred thousand voices over (theillithidtheillitid)

(theillithiddrawsnear)

“What?” But they were _gone_. Neither here nor there or anywhere. Firewisps didn’t just wink out of existence, not even when the Fading began to hunt through the branches as the days became shorter or in the Drawing Down’s cold, deep black. Lark couldn’t remember a time this had ever happened.

_Something is coming._

He had to get out of here.

Lark had a knife. A stupid little pocket knife made for whittling and badly cutting hair. You didn’t need swords or cantrips in a place like this where nothing more than imps and spiders and goblins could come after you. But now he had a terrible feeling that something far greater than any of those things was lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.

You wanted to be a hero so bad. Humble’s voice was all nettles and barbs, slicing into him. Now’s your chance, Lark.

He gripped the knife and ran.

There was a difference between being a hero and being an idiot, he reassured himself. And even if nothing was following him Lark would get there faster if he kept this pace up, winded and sweating sure, but he’d take that over death or evisceration. Everyone would, probably. Just keep going. Just keep running. Don’t look back.

Something jumped out from the tunneling of his vision, causing him to rear back and shriek.

_“Woof!”_

“GODS!” 

Lark shook his head, certain he wasn’t seeing things right. It was a dog. The biggest dog he had ever seen, wagging it’s tail happily at him as he nearly fell on his arse. “Please don’t tell me you’re the Illithid thing.” He begged brokenly.

It cocked his head and trotted closer with it’s tongue lolling out. It barked again and ran itself into a tight circle before sitting nice and neat. “A lackey?” He questioned on a breathless pant. “A familiar?”

The dog sneezed and kept staring at him.

He could see all of the town from here as he collected his breath, his thoughts, his self. You’re safe now. You’re safe. There was the great fountain of Lliiara at the center, back arched and hair tumbling behind her, the crystal lit from within; the Matron’s First Temple, made out of glimmering moon stone, silently watching over all of them; the coast glimmered in the distance, painted in pink and blue; and last but not least, the Red Tailed Hawk inn, every curtain drawn, the darkest he had ever seen it since he and Humble had arrived here.

“I take that to mean you’re friendly.” Lark extended his hand so that the dog could sniff it as it’s leisure. “I’m _also_ friendly, though I don’t have much food. Nothing a dog would like for that matter so I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

It blinked it’s doleful brown eyes at him and nosed his digits. He touched the dog’s brow, an immediate sense of calm coming over him. He had always liked dogs. Always wanted one. “I’m on a mission. I can’t bring you to spy with me, but I can at least bring you to town.” He reassured the mutt. Go see Lys at the meat market and get some leftovers for his new friend. “I don’t think you want to be out here...” 

He finally cast a look backwards, and the forest yawned back silently, not a wisp to be found.

~

Remember 

Remember remembering…

What was there to remember anyways?

What was he remembering? 

Who was he anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oouuughh wooga wooga mystery -sparkle fingers galore-


	3. Chapter 3

Yevon didn’t want to talk about it.

Instead, she wanted to spar.

Secretly Ryder was grateful for it, his own mind a tangled mess. And though he had tried to steer her gently to their room after Synthea had left, she had shrugged him off abruptly, fists clenching and ready for _something_. “No, not yet.” She managed around her tusks, voice low and gravelly. It was as if iron had been poured down her spine and not a sign of weakness afford from within.

She was hurting in a way she didn’t know how to fix after all this time, so this was the only way to get rid of it.

Yevon struck like an asp and Ryder barely caught the curve of the motion before her foot slammed into him, but he countered at the last second, dragging her towards him by her ankle before trying to sweep her other foot out from underneath her. But she was ready, twisting at the waist and thrusting her palm out. It cuffed his jaw with no kind of warning, head snapping to the side dangerously, each bone in his neck giving a violent click-click-clicking. “Fuck, Ryder, I-” Her facade slipped. She was horrified.

“S’fine. I’m fine.” He could taste the blood in his mouth but it was invigorating. More importantly, the beast hadn’t even raised it’s head, apparently quelled for the time being. Ryder let her down and went about touching the injury tentatively, open-closing his mouth a series of times to make sure his jaw wasn’t completely fucked. “There’s much easier ways of getting your husband to shut up, you know.” He tried to joke.

Normally something like that would already have her crying with laughter but she simply stood there, gutted out and hollow eyed. He couldn’t blame her. Wouldn’t. Synthea had looked her dead in the eye and flat out told her that she was unimportant. That she had no meaning in this newly proposed destiny that was his life now.

It had been awful to watch because he _knew_ she loved and revered the matrons and now one was telling her she was meaningless in the grand scheme of everything. She had blinked three times in tandem as she tried to process what the Loxodon had said, the sun slanting overhead. “Then why did you even ask me to come?” She had finally rasped, voice worn and rusty. “What’s the point of even inviting me?”

“There’s nothing saying that you can’t help, Yevon, there are many things that can be done-”

“But I don’t matter.” Yevon had cut in savagely, suddenly stronger and fiercer than any blade forged of true-metal found upon Faerun. “I don’t mean _anything_.”

Synthea being an oracle had made it even worse, because she had to know how Yev had grown up hated by her father and his family, her birth breaking the seventh son of a seventh son lineage they had been plotting and planning for for almost a century. _The first daughter of a seventh son_ , she would joke darkly on her worst of days, _I am my own concept._ So hearing those words coming from something she looked up to, something she had dreamed of being...

It had been devastating.

“I hate that you were right. We should have never come here.” 

She was fussing with her braids, combing them over and over again like she did when she got nervous. Her words gave him a strange kind of pause and he swore he could hear her heart pounding. “I kept saying oh Meouch is just being a worrywart. Oh he’s just getting ahead of himself. But then everything happened without any kind of warning, one thing after another...” Yevon’s eyes fell closed and she rolled her shoulders slowly. “And now I feel like an idiot.”

“You are _not_ an idiot.” He didn’t say what he was thinking, what they were both thinking, probably. That if he truly was destined for this that they would have ended up here. An inevitability by will of Savras. “You’re far from it.”

She blew out a breath and turned her face from him. “Then why do I feel so stupid?”

“Because nothing makes sense anymore.”

It had taken less than a day for life as they knew it to be shattered completely. He was apparently some predestined hero meant to fight back against... what exactly? “We must wait for the rest of your companions to answer that question.” Synthea had told him in that sad and trailing voice of hers, leaving no room for questions. But gods, Ryder had wanted nothing more than to heft that damned coffin in front of her and demand if that was what she was talking about. But no. He had only stood there, mute and unmoving, trying to make sense of how something like him could be so…Well. So damn extraordinary.

He raked his fingers through his damp blonde hair and made a tired sound. Enough lingering. He wanted to move on. “Maybe this all could have gone differently if I had worn that damn coat.” Ryder muttered quietly.

She laughed even though he could tell she didn’t want to, dabbing her fingers under her eyes. “Don’t make me laugh asshole, I’m…” Her breath shuddered out of her with a jolt of her shoulders, spine of iron faltering. “I’m upset, alright?”

Ryder’s heart ached. “I know.” She was more than upset. She was reeling. “We could take a walk, keep sparring.” Sail away. Leave the crew and the coffin and supposed destiny they were supposed to live out somehow together but apart. “Other things.” He mused as his voice went whiskey-low and warm.

“Ryder, you did _not_ just suggest we get intimate,” Now her eyes were truly laughing as her eyebrows went sky high, golden tusks shining in the twilight as she blinked the rest of her tears away. “When I’m having a mental breakdown.”

He gave a low whistle and shook his head dramatically. “Gods, if this is a mental breakdown, then what in Bhaal’s name was that time when you thought Tauril pawned your wedding ring?”

Yevon covered her face, cheeks flushing deep and red, and he was reminded of how lucky he truly was. “I am going to kill you, you awful, awful man!” Yevon shrieked and Ryder could feel his face hurt from how much he was smiling. His heart overflowing. “You can sleep with the horses for that comment, you arse! Stay here! Don’t look at me! I’m going inside and I’m taking a nice long bath that _you’re_ not invited to!” She went to storm past him but he caught her shoulder, held her in place momentarily. “...What?” She pretended to seethe, baring her teeth at him.

“Synthea doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

Uncertainty flashed in her dark eyes, smile crumpling. “Ry…”

“I mean it.” It wasn’t only Yevon either. Everyone mattered. Every child, woman or man; and whatever else someone deemed themselves to be, or anything in between. “No man’s a ruttin’ island, Yev. If I was meant to be here, then what’s to say I wouldn’t be alone when I did? Nothing was saying it had to be you, but it was. It is.”

And it was Brava, the Aarakocra forever tied to the crow’s nest. The triplet Locathah, Adaro, Rulsaki, and Nommo, braving the deep waters every night to keep their ship’s hull safe. Jener, the gnome that cooked every meal for them and recorded everything, and their grandfatherly Yuan-Ti healer, Sitlu, who always complained about how much trouble they gave him but loved each and every one of them. Even Tauril and her little gang of brats were a part of his story, as was everyone that came before them and everyone that would follow suit. “I wouldn’t be the man I am now if it wasn’t for you, Yevon. That’s undeniable.”

Yevon touched his cheek, fingers dancing softly across the rising bruise. That was one of his most favorite parts about her. That she had been born for war, into a body that could rip and tear men apart with terrifying ease, but she was more than that. She was whip smart and gentle and could outbake a patisserie. She was, without a doubt, an inspiration to him always. “You sure do know how to make a woman feel special, Meouch.” She murmured after a moment, lashes made dewey with tears.

“I know how to make _one_ woman special.” He smiled as he turned his head and kissed her fingers, feeling the most at peace he had since the beginning of all this chaos. “The rest are an absolute mystery.”

~

He had found Lark Sung.

It’s not like he had been trying to, not at that point, at least. Elysium had simply grown tired of waiting for the moon. He had taken to wandering the hallways of the temple while Hiraeth dozed off first, making sure to stay quiet and distant from where the praying took place. There was a library. A mess hall. Tittering acolytes who couldn’t keep his eyes from him as he walked the world with his in-born silent grace, whispering after him. Then came the gardens, bursting with every color and bloom imaginable, ringed in birch and willow trees.

He wandered among them until he began to lost track, skimming his fingers along the silken petals until he found another path. He could see the heart of the city in the distance, and like his own personal Calling, he felt inexplicably drawn to it. Hiraeth didn’t have to know. He could do this on his own time, quick and fast and inconspicuous.

The gambling halls were in full swing now as the dusk slunk down deep. Ely could hear drunken sailors and wild patrons shouting through the open windows, the scent of poppy tears spilling forth and spicing the night. Now came the strange oddities too. Artificers with wares spread out around them, spelled metal shifting around their waists and arrows flitting about. Unlicensed Clerics with homemade elixirs and brews offering “quick fixings” for aches and old wounds. Everything was cast in a warm glow, the torches and wizard light painting the night in crimson and gold. 

“Hey now! Get down! I’m asking a question, you brute.”

Elysium spun and by the Wheel, there he was! Still donning his awful cape of his and standing proud and… well, not tall. Lark Sung wasn’t anywhere close to being tall. It appeared he was talking to a miniature pony, which upon second glance revealed itself to be a canine, dappled in onyx black and forest brown and dancing eagerly around his spread feet. “I don’t think it’s very likely that he belongs to someone here.” Lark was saying. “Because you know I know everybody in Mundus Muli, and I’ve never seen anything like him.”

The woman standing across from him leaned over with a tut of her tongue, slipping the dog another hunk of meat which he eagerly gobbled down. “Oh Larky, I just don’t know. He looks like one of those big war dogs they have out east for scoutin’ and sniffin’ out bad men on the run. He don’t look underfed though, no, bugger looks quite healthy if you’re asking me.”

Lark gave a grand laugh before shaking his head. “Right you are Lys!” He ruffled the dog’s ears with a toothy grin, and if Elyisum didn’t know any better, he’d say the damn dog already belonged to him. “But perhaps that’s because someone’s quite skilled at begging. Aren’t you? Aren’t you, good boy, yeah?” He smushed his face and kissed his forehead, causing the dog’s tail to wag so fast it kicked dirt up. So much for being a war dog... “Who’s the best beggin’ pup in Mundus Muli? Who gets _allllll_ the love?”

The woman smiled fondly and leaned back against the shop door, absently wiping her fingers down her apron front. “Looks like he’s found himself an owner if he don’t already got one.” She winked conspiratorially. “I’ve always got left over offal if you need it. Just don’t tell the husband, you know how Rand can be.”

“Pssh, Rand would get one look at this face and he’d understand. Say. Now that I think of it…” Something bright and calculating came into his eyes. Oh? Elysium’s ears perked, curious as to what that look could mean. “You don’t think he belongs to the ship that sailed in earlier, do you Lys?” Ship? Had they really been so wrapped up in their fight that they had missed a ship somehow? By the Wheel, he was truly losing his mind.

“Oh that’s right!” She snapped her fingers. “I hadn’t even given that any thought. Aren’t they staying at Tilly’s place with you?”

“That they are. I haven’t been home since.” A wan smile came across Lark’s features, further piquing his interests. “Tils wanted help moving some valuables.”

Lys snorted. “More than fair on her part. You never know. The inn probably hasn’t been that busy since- ah, gosh, now I’ve gone and made myself sad.” She gave a quick wince. “I’m glad she’s got you and Humble to look after for her.”

“Oh, always.” He stood and the dog copied him, already two peas in a pod. “It was good seein’ you Lys. Tell Rand I said hullo. But it’s about time I started heading back. Make sure no one’s missing this good boy.” Said good boy spun in place at the name and that’s when their eyes met. The dog’s nostrils flared before his eyes went wide. Oh no. No… He knew what came next.

The dog ripped forward with a howl of delight and flat out tackled him.

They hit the ground hard, Elysium only able to scrunch his nose as the smell of raw meat was breathed all over him, squirming helplessly as the beast tried it’s best to lick his skin clean off. “Woah! Woah! Hey now! Come sit. Heel!” 

It was obvious the dog didn’t mean him any kind of harm, but Ely was quite certain he’d run out of breath if Lark didn’t act. “Gods, I’m sorry, are you-” The Human’s words petered off as he stood there holding the dog, sentence falling short.

 _Hello again._ Elysium managed after a moment, hyper aware that he was covered in dog slobber and dirt and had twigs in his hair. _I’m okay, by the way, don’t worry._

Lark wasn’t worried though. He was wide eyed, gaping, _ecstatic_. “You!” He hollered, causing quite a few looks. He nearly dropped the dog in his excitement but somehow managed not to. “By Tymora, I- I knew you asked to meet again, but I didn’t think it’d be so suddenly!”

 _Neither did I…_ He skimmed his fingers across his cheek, trying to be subtle as he wiped the spit off. _Small world, I suppose._

“Oh most definitely. Here. Um. Damn it, give me a moment.” He swore a few times, even throwing a singular “fuck!” in for good measure before he let the dog down. 

Which was, predictably, the worst idea he could choose to employ. He was back on Ely in an instant, massive paws pushing him like he weighed nothing. “BAD DOG!” Lark bellowed in horror. “STOP THAT!”

The Aasimar laughed this time, unable to help himself. Everything about this was so ridiculous. It was downright hilarious. _He’s heavy is all._ He reassured the other as he watched Lark wrestle him away a second time, this time smart enough to keep a grip on his neck scruff. _I didn’t know you had a dog._ Ely lobbed subtly once they had both settled down, quietly fixing his hair. 

There was no reason to imply he had heard anything important. At least, not yet.

“Temporarily.” Lark answered easily, ever the open book. “He’s a stray. Might belong to some of the pi-people. People now staying with me.” And like an open book, he was terrible at lying, clearly not made for it. “I found him by the forest and wanted to make sure he was taken care of, and uh, now we’re here.”

Lark Sung was a man of integrity and chaotic good if Elysium had ever seen one. It was… nice. He wasn’t used to such constants, even if they were silly ones. But now that he was standing with all of his bearings about him, the reasons why he had wanted to find the other man came rushing back at him. Get answers or be done with it. You owed that much to Hiraeth. 

They both seemed to be caught at a crossroads, unsure of how to proceed. Do you feel that same strange draw, Lark Sung? Was finding you coincidence, or something else determined on the Wheel eons ago? A hundred questions were crowding in and the first one he decided to go with was, for whatever reason: _would you like some company?_

He blinked those wild violet eyes of his, seemingly taken aback. Stupid. How could he be so stupid- _Unless you have other plans._ He added hurriedly.

“No, I-” There was that awful lying again. An amalgam of stuttering, flushed cheeks, and fae eyes flicking everywhere. The dog gave an unimpressed sigh at his feet, clearly tired of Lark still holding him. “I… Gods, okay, I have a reason.” He blurted.

 _You don’t have to explain yourself._ _Please_ don’t explain yourself, he wanted to beg. Not if it meant more lying and stuttering and bullshit.

“But I want to!”

He froze, not expecting that response.

Ely felt his cheeks go ruddy at Lark’s sudden outburst. “I-I just… Come here.” Lark was letting go of the dog to grab him instead, callused fingers circling his wrist easily. “I don’t want to talk about this here.” Then where? Where was the Human taking him? 

The dog followed without question, loyally trailing them as they passed stall after stall, until the wizard light faded and all there was was them and the stars. “I know this is going to sound stupid.” He started, looking half crazed and manic. “But I don’t know how else to tell you.”

Nothing felt real. He kept waiting for Hiraeth to peek into his head and realize the truth, to come chasing after him. “I woke up this morning and I had this… this gut feeling. And my entire life I was told to follow those. I knew something incredible was going to happen, at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. And then we met, and you said all those things about my singing-” Oh Wheel crush him now! “And then I went home to tell Humble about it, but then there were these pirates-”

He cocked his head. Surely he had misheard him. _...Pirates?_

“Yes! Pirates! Gods, I told you it sounded stupid! But I’m telling you, these pirates show up and buy the inn out for the month and now I’ve got a _bad_ feeling in my gut and it’s made worse by the firewisps.”

 _You speak to the firewisps?!_ Ely’s voice flew up an octave, ringing through both their heads. Not even the most daring of godspawn did that. He truly _was_ one of the Fae...

“Yes! Sometimes! Bloody hells, damn it, let me finish.” He was nearly out of breath, the poor thing, so Ely did what he asked of him. “And they tell me something is coming. This… this thing called the Illithid.”

Never before had he heard such a term, but despite that, a skittering feeling went down his senses as he processed it. _Illithid._ He repeated back, testing the word out. It felt worse to speak into existence, as if summoning something from far, far beyond. Past the Wheel, even.

Lark, it seemed, had already moved on, obviously anxious. “So now I’m here to check on the pirates because I told the owner I would, except I’m also positive that there’s something out there in the woods and I don’t know what to do about it or if I can tell anyone. Plus! I have a dog now!” He gestured to his new companion. “So there. That’s your explanation as to why I’m losing my mind and why I panicked when you asked me a simple, rutting gods damn question, because this is impossible.”

Elysium saw the way he had his hands all wrung up in one another, expression desperate for some kind of understanding or validation. Far, far from the smiling man who had taken his hands into his on the streets mere hours ago.

How he hated it. All he wanted was to do away with it as soon as humanly possible. _“No, Lark, you didn’t freak out. You went ‘No I- uh, erm, ah…’_

It was perfect. The Human balked and whipped his head towards Elysium, who in turn gave him an easy shrug. _Give yourself some credit,_ he told him gently, half tempted to fix the mussing of his dark hair. _You’re no village idiot._

Lark finally recovered, making a big show of rolling his eyes playfully, carding his curls back. “Now I don’t know about that.” He said in a sing-songy voice. He had the loveliest smile, filling his face up and reaching his impossible eyes every time. “I can be very stupid. Like earlier! When I didn’t even ask for your name...”

Oh. Right. That was something he had wanted to do as well. Give Sung his name. Some kind of closure before he was gone. _It’s Elysium. Many call me Ely._

“Elysium.” He made it sound like poetry in motion somehow, as if invoking the very place of his namesake. Every Aasimar had a strange and flowing name. It was one of those things you became desensitized to. But this was different. Intimate. “Now we’re even.” He let out a satisfied hum. “Lark and Ely. It sounds quite nice, don’t you think?”

Ely’s breath caught as the dog huffed through his nose and flopped dramatically. _Quite._ He finally managed, feeling as if his voice was too tight. _Speaking of names!_ The Aasimar was quick to fill the silence he knew would follow. _Before you check on your pirates, perhaps this one deserves one too._ The dog looked up at him and cocked his head sides, apparently listening. 

“Oh abso-lutely!” The Human clapped his hands together before crouching down next to the dog, going to poke as his jowls like he didn’t have forty two teeth inside his mouth made for shredding and putting things down. “Now, normally I don’t invoke Oghma. He’s a bit too… bland for my tastes, personally. But…!” Elysium bit his tongue at the sacrilege, trying not to burst out laughing. He was a bastard, this one. “We’ll give it a go. Oh great Oghma, he who inspires, who gives knowledge, who invents many, many things. What shall I name this newfound dog of mine!?”

Distantly, crickets chirped, and a warm wind blew as the dog eyed them both. _You’re very dramatic._ Elysium said after a beat.

Lark, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch. “Oh I’m _well_ aware.”

More crickets chirped as nothing happened and even a owl hooted distantly, as if mocking him. He was painfully, painfully aware that Hiraeth could wake at any moment and ask after him. _Perhaps if you were to invoke Oghma in a more respectful tone-_

Lark leapt to his feet grinning. “I’VE GOT IT! GOOBY!”

The dog perked his ears and thumped his tail quietly. _...I’m sorry._ Ely drawled as his hands found his hips. What _are you naming him?_

In what he was learning to be typical Lark fashion, the other man was unbothered; scooping Gooby up against his chest and cradling him, as if he were a bag of feathers, or his own infant. “Blame Oghma. It came to me from the deepest recesses of my mind, and it just feels right. So! His name is Gooby now!” How and what and why, Ely wanted to ask, but it was growing on him slowly, oddly enough. “Isn’t that right, Gooby?”

Gooby licked his chin, sealing the deal, and Lark laughed out loud.

So now it was him, Lark, and Gooby. All in search of pirates and mystery. What was his life becoming? Venia would be happy at least to hear about all of this in his next letter, and that made it almost worth it somewhat. That and that he was being young and stupid and living. _Now I’m about to ask you a question you’ll hate me for._ Elysium led in after a moment of walking, the shadow of the inn looming on the horizon.

Lark grimaced. “Bugger… I can only imagine.”

 _What happens when you witness these bad acts?_ By the Wheel, he better not be thinking of the authorities. He’d end up with a target on his pretty, curly head. _What’s the plan?_

“Now _that_ is a fantastic question, Ely.” Oh no, it was worse than he thought, he hadn’t planned _anything_. “You know, there’s a small chance that they’re not even bad pirates.”

 _Small._ Elysium emphasized, apparently the voice of reason in this situation.

Lark pouted “...Well, what would you do then?”

 _Spend tonight learning routines, seeing if they have a watch. Not jumping to conclusions if you do come across something out of the ordinary. Then, find if there’s someone they’re mistreating, a lackey, a subordinate. Plan a way to approach them and strike a bargain, maybe even some bribery._ Ely could feel Lark staring and he felt himself flush. _What?_

“Nothing. Well, no, not nothing. That’s very… tactical.” He marvelled, almost tripping over Gooby as he did. “Hells, I was just thinking of sneaking in.”

In came an element he hadn’t even thought to think of. He had to remember that Lark had been staying there. There could be rooms or entrances that only he knew about. _I suppose you could do that too. I’m assuming there’s a dry stores area, like a basement?_

“You’d be very correct in that assumption, Ely.” Lark was starting to get a look on his face, part mischief and part exhilaration. He pointed a finger at him and Elysium felt his heart skip a beat. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 _That depends._ Ely found himself turning giddy as he pressed his voice into Lark’s head, hoping he could hear his excitement clearly. _Is there an entrance to it from the outside?_

“Follow me.” And they plunged into the dark together, Gooby trailing after them.

~

So many things were happening and he didn’t know where to start.

The fact that the Aasimar was here to start. Elysium was here, he corrected himself, had to be the best part. He was so delightfully strange, dry humored and full of subtleties, and keen on joining him too on this adventure he had all but fallen into. 

Also, he had obtained a dog named Gooby. That made him pretty damn happy too.

The second entrance to the inn’s basement was located near the stables, just outside so as to not bother the horses while they slept and ate. “You don’t mind being underground, right?” He knew some people weren’t keen on things like that. He personally hated seeing blood. Had fainted a few times from seeing too much of it. 

_Not at all. Don’t worry about me._

It was an outside entrance meant for really anything. Tilly and Ilana hadn’t given them any reason when they had found it, just said it was nice to store grain bags in and have in case of emergencies. Less time outside in possible storms if and when tending to the horses. “It’s a little cramped when you get down there, but you can see it’s not too long.” Lark whispered. Ten minutes tops. “Let’s out right under the inn. If the door’s blocked, we try back tomorrow.”

Something shuttered in Ely’s eyes but it was gone in a blink. Literally. _How fortunate._ He murmured. How fortunate indeed. Bless Tymora for everything. He could feel the excitement rolling off Elysium despite his soft musings, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of the entrance. _Shall I give you the honors, Lark?_ He tossed his head in his direction as he threw the rotting doors open, smiling at him.

But it wasn’t him that went first but rather Gooby. The dog slid down the incline, before tumbling onto the molding hay and leftover grain. “Damn it Gooby, get back here.” He hissed, but the bastard was ignoring him and already trotting away.

 _If your dog is the reason we get caught, I’ll be very angry._ Ely told him in a flat tone before jumping in. That left Lark to look down into the dark depths as Humble’s voice crowded in damningly. You’re being stupid. Foolish. Selfish. What’s going to happen next, Lark? What happens when you and your friend get found out?

It might not happen. 

Anything was possible.

He closed the doors overhead and waited for his eyes to adjust, for the magic to happen… the color green rising up all around them subtly as the bioluminescent fungi lining the walls came to life. Ely gave a soft sound of wonder as he turned in a full circle, visibly fascinated. _This is incredible._ He breathed. _Was it found this way?_

“I wish I could tell you. I think so. Tilly and Illana might have cultivated some of it, but it’s probably all natural.” Poor Elysium had to keep his head bowed as they made their way along, the ceiling too close for him. Lark did _not_ have that problem. “When we first got here two years ago, I’d use this all the time. It was my favorite part.”

 _I don’t blame you._ His voice went feather soft with fondness. _It smells like Kythorn._ It _did_ smell like the Time of Flowers down here, all petrichor and blooming. _I’ve never seen anything like this before…_

“That’s Mundus Muli for you. Matron’s have got a way of making everything more…” Lark gestured grandiosely. It wasn’t just shaped by magic. It was magic through and through. “Where do you come from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Ely made an amused sound. _The Aasimar come from everywhere._ He gave Lark a sly smile before shaking his head. _In all seriousness, I hail from Angeal, and no, it is not as great as everyone makes it out to be._ He interjected before Lark could launch into a series of questions, bitterness lacing his tone. _Not unless you had money or connections._

It made sense then why he hadn’t seen anything like this before. Angeal was all glass and stone supposedly, all the magic streamlined. Things were more natural here. Slow and gentle. _I’ve traveled many places though, and so far, this is my favorite._

Lark’s mouth hooked up and Ely was quick to return the gesture despite his earlier hurting. “I am in full agreement with you there. I traveled a lot as a kid too, and let me tell you, I always dreamed of coming here.”

They finally found Gooby waiting for them at the end of the makeshift hallway like a silent guardian. “I have a knife.” Lark pulled it out, his grip slick and unaccustomed to the shape. He had Gurdy too if anything. As much as it would pain him to use her to bash someone’s brains in, she could pack a mighty punch for sure. 

_So do I._ His was much more ornate, bronzed with a ruby pommel, edge catching in the low light. Lark could hear his heart pounding with the possibility of what lay beyond the door. From nerves and excitement and mystery. _We do this together on the count of three. One, two, three!_

They pushed the door open on silent hinges and found a coffin in the middle of the floor.

 _By the Wheel._ Ely breathed out. _That’s not normal, is it?_

Lark couldn’t tell if he was being rhetorical or not, but it didn’t matter. “Definitely not, friend.”

They approached it slowly with not much light to go by. It seemed darker than the rest of the room, and all Lark could think of was that gods damned black moon night. Black on black. Total emptiness. Lack and lack and lack.

“This is… ridiculous.” His voice came out strangled and tight. It was changed thrice over, and the padlock… he couldn’t believe it. “I’ve never seen this before in my life.”

 _Pirates, a coffin, buying an inn for a month._ He could hear the Aasimar working through it. His silver hair was the brightest thing in the room. _They’re meeting a buyer. It has to be that. Either that or a trade._

Gooby had curled himself at the bottom of the coffin, whining softly. He didn’t seem scared though. More upset. Sad in a way. “What could even be in that thing?” 

Distantly he could feel his heart beating again, just as it had in the forest before the firewisps had come forth. This _couldn’t_ be the Illithid. The very thought of the word for a thing he didn’t even understand inspired fear and dreading in him, but this? This was something different. His mouth worked before his brain did, words tumbling out of him. “Should we open it?”

 _Open it? Are you_ kidding _me?!_ Elysium spluttered. _We should turn around and forget this even happened. This is way over our heads. We have two knives, nothing else._ But even as he protested his eyes never once left the coffin, tracing it’s sides and shape, his face that one of wonder and wanting. _We aren’t prepared for this._

Lark stepped forward. “Maybe we are.”

Something grand and fantastic would happen today and he would be at the heart of it. There was no denying it. He had stepped out of this very inn with those thoughts in his head and those words in his heart, and now he was going to do something about it. Elysium didn’t stop him either. He almost looked eager in a way as he reached his hand towards the padlock, dragged by the same force.

- _Do you remember me?-_

He saw ice when he touched the lock. He saw snow.

He saw shadow. He saw blood.

He saw a memory that wasn’t his.

He saw

Something

Nothing

Everything and more.

- _Do you remember anything?-_

He saw-

“What are you doing?!” A horrified voice roared from the top of the stairs, but Lark was a million miles away from here. He heard a cacophony. He heard laughter. He heard the sound of applause.

 _You found me_ . The voice whispered and his head screamed with it as the lock clicked open. _But it’s too late now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW WE’RE GETTING PLACES


	4. Chapter 4

Once upon a time, he had had a name.

Once upon a time, he had had a cause.

He knew _what_ he was though. War Forged. Not so much of a title as it was a purpose. Made for battle and savagery. For ruining and wrecking and ending. An act of finality. 

But now he was simply useless.

No more than rust and forgotten memories.

He didn’t know where he was, but there were four other beings with him, it seemed. Three of them were staring at him with wide eyed horror and unapologetic fear. Was he so bad, he wondered to himself, while simultaneously thinking it was somewhat appropriate. “What _is_ that thing?” The voice furthest from him asked, up a set of stairs and visibly shaking. “Gods, what have you done?”

“I didn’t-” The one closest to him choked. “I don’t know. I didn’t even try...”

_War Forged._

That would be the one born of blood and silver, his voice a ringing bell. _That’s what it is._ He moved fluidly, the hollows of his eyes boring into him. _By the Wheel, I thought they were all gone._

The War Forged stared right back, all too aware of the ache that spilled out through his chest. Wiped out. Extirpated. Done away with. Was he truly the last of his kind? Is that what he meant? _That’s what you are, aren’t you?_

“Are you saying it can understand us?” The second voice shrilled as he knelt there.

 _It should._ There was something familiar about this red skinned man. A memory of a memory. An echo bouncing back on a cold and quiet wind. _They can formulate full thoughts and sentences. They can even feel pain._ He reached into his pocket and retrieved a blade. The War Forged stared at it, stared at him. Just stared and stared and stared.

The man flipped the blade and handed it to him hilt first, causing everyone to go deathly still, marionettes with their strings drawn tight to the heart. _This… is a sign of trust._ It was only the two of them, the War Forged was certain, the others left completely out. _I know what you are, what you can do._

Do you? The War Forged cocked his head slowly.

 _God pawn._ Like him, that word was painfully familiar too. _Barbarian of Faerun._

The War Forged took the blade slowly, all muscle memory. He raised it silently and considered it’s near weightlessness, how easy it’d be to wield it, how he could kill all of them without so much of a breath or blinking passed.

But he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want any of that.

The third being lumbered over and collapsed promptly into his lap. It closed it’s eyes with a soft sound, desperate for dreaming despite the danger that surrounded them. He took his hand that wasn’t holding the knife and pet it along it’s throat, feeling almost comfortable. Feeling safe.

The silver haired male smiled at him and the feeling grew.

 _It’s fine._ He called to all of them as he stood. The War Forged stayed kneeling, not wanting to disturb the beast who had already started to doze off. _Well, as fine as this situation can be._ He added after a beat, this close to smirking.

“It is not fine!” The older man growled as he thundered down the stairs. “You two just show up out of nowhere-”

“Excuse you, I live here!” The curly haired male yelped before he could continue. “You’re the one who just shows up with… whatever in the nine hells that thing is!”

 _War Forged._ The one he considered a friend answered calmly. _It’s a War Forged._

He threw his hands up, clearly exasperated. “I don’t know what that means, Ely! It’s like you’re speaking Elvish or something!”

 _I can say it in Elvish if that helps, Lark. Or perhaps Sylvan is better suited for you?_ He shot him a knowing gaze and Lark became even more confused and flustered.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“Hey!” The oldest man bellowed. “I wasn’t rutting done!”

The War Forged watched as the two other men, Lark and Ely, pivoted his way. “I told the innkeeper that everyone else was out when we got here. Was that not properly conveyed?” He snarled with a bearing of his teeth, and the sight of it was a temptation in every right. Fight me, it begged, see who comes out on top. 

“N-no, it wasn’t…” He stuttered as a line of sweat dripped down his brow. He knew one thing about this Lark already. He was not a liar. _That_ was painfully obvious. 

_He was with me._ Ely cut in in a silken tone. _Showing me around. I’ve just arrived in Mundus Muli like yourself and I needed a tour guide._

“And what tour guide brings you back through a hole in a wall and through the basement, huh?” The older man took a step closer, tawny eyes flashing. “Got an explanation for that one?”

Ely jutted his jaw and raised his chin, looking the man directly in the eye as he answered almost haughtily. _One I was planning to fuck._

Lark choked on pure nothing and the phrasing was so crass and abrupt it caused the other to stumble back somewhat. _Not either of our faults that your enchanted coffin begged to be open._ Ely took advantage of the confusion, gaining on the other. _Not our fault you didn’t have a better perimeter watch._

The War Forged ducked his head as delight coursed through his veins. Despite being so melodramatic it truly was a sight to behold. He saw the other man recovering finally as Lark continued to wheeze desperately, eyes saucer wide and frantic under his curled hair. “Just who do you think you are, telling me how to handle my crew-?”

 _No more than a simple Aasimar._ Ely’s own teeth showed and it wasn’t as obvious, but the warning was still there. I’ll fight you and I’ll win. _Who saved your life, really, now that I think of it._

“I wouldn’t _need_ any saving if you hadn’t been down here.” Something else was starting to show in him. Something that caused the heart shaped thing in the War Forged’s chest to thump. “And that’s real rich coming from you when _you_ gave it a knife. I know what it is, you say, and then you don’t explain it.”

“Hey…” Lark gulped roughly. “I’m sure Elysium has an explanation.”

“And you think I care?” His teeth looked longer somehow, muscles rippling. The War Forged moved the dog’s head off his lap subtly, clenching his fingers around the knife. God Pawn. Barbarian of Faerun. More than that. Less. He was a half formed threat, just waiting to be slung. “I don’t have time for this. You should have never let that thing out. There’s a reason it was in that box and just like there’s a reason it was the last one.”

It hurt. Worse than any arrow or blade. The War Forged sat there in an inexplicably sad silence as he watched the older man, unsure of what to do with himself. Ely, on the other hand, drew himself up and set his shoulders back, lashes hung low over his damningly dark eyes. _You don’t even know what you’re talking about. And besides._ He laughed an awful little laugh _. If not us, then someone else would have, and you know that’s the truth captain._

He launched himself at Ely and pinned him to the floor the second the words left his mouth. The War Forged heard Lark’s tremulous cry, then the dog’s braying, _then_ the creaking of the inn, but none of that mattered because the captain was choking Elysium.

It took three to eight seconds to lose consciousness from a blood choking, he was all too aware. It took the War Forged a second to press the knife to his throat. 

Less than...

The warning he tried to issue fell out of his mouth as garbled nonsense, and it was too late that he realized his “vocal chords” were shot. It didn’t matter. The blade was threat enough. Let me spill your throat, he swore it sang as he dragged the flat of it sideways. Let me end this quietly.

The older man released his hold but stayed kneeling over Ely, his breath run ragged. “I felt you through that coffin.” He said in a low voice, mouth hitching sideways, apparently talking to him. “I felt something awful. Something dreadful. Something comparable to me.” The War Forged cocked his head, the knife never faltering. “You could kill me, couldn’t you?”

Yes. A hundred times over. All of them. Everyone.

And again, like clockwork, he came back to the realization that he didn’t want that. He didn’t want this blood soaked legacy. The room fell to silence as the question rippled between them, as they all realized themselves.

Something clicked.

It was subtle. So much so that only he heard it at first. The War Forged raised his head and saw a woman there in flowing gown, a star wheel poised expertly in her hands. “I’m going to ask you nicely, just this once.” She whispered. “Let my husband go or you’re dead.”

~

He had wanted pirates.

He had gotten pirates.

There had just been many unintended consequences in between.

The woman had introduced herself as Yevon and had given them nothing else since. They sat at one of the dining tables, himself and Elysium on one side, the captain and his partner on the other watching them. The War Forged, as Ely had called it, was propped up on the floor and currently petting Gooby. It was only slightly nerve wracking to watch, so he focused his attention forward instead. “So you just waltzed right in here-” She began.

“I believe the correct term you’re looking for is crept.” Lark insisted before Ely got in a good pinch. He shot the Aasimar a dirty look, who was already glaring at him. “I’m not wrong, there was a lot of creeping.”

_Focus._

“Oh alright.”

He fiddled his hands, wishing he had Gurdy in his hands, any instrument really. Just something to fuss with while his brain worked through everything to keep him on track. “Listen I- I knew you were all here. I was here when you arrived.” He fumbled and began scratching his fingers along the oh-so-familiar knots and whorls. How many meals had he eaten at this very table with so many strangers and companions, Humble always at his side? Now everything was quiet and drawn to a breaking point. No fire in the fireplace. No wafting scent of garlic cloves. No murmured conversation between lovers and families slowly moving through the world only to take a momentary pause. “I’ve known the owner for a couple years now, and I told her I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything.”

Lark knew their eyes met on ‘anything’, their judgement at his assumption palpable. “If I’m being honest with both of you, I was only going to keep an eye out unless something happened, see if you were up to anything suspicious, but…” Lark’s eyes cut to Elysium’s profile and he winced apologetically. “Then Ely and I decided to investigate more thoroughly after meeting up again.”

The captain, Ryder, they had learned, had a fine pipe of tobacco he was lighting as he studied them. “So much for a good fuck.” He finally drawled.

Oh gods. He hadn’t forgotten it. There was literally _no_ forgetting it. He had just been trying not to think of it quite yet. Ely didn’t even flinch at the accusation but Lark found himself praying to any probable ground gods out there to open the floor up and swallow him whole. “Anyways.” He squeaked. “We get in and we see the coffin and… well…” He gestured to the juggernaut laid out on the floor, quietly cuddling Gooby. “You’re aware.”

“Oh, I’m _more_ than aware.” He took a few puffs before sighing them out into the ceiling nice and slow like. “What I’m not aware of is what I’m going to tell my buyer when he finds I’ve ‘tampered’ with it.”

Leave it to Ely looked bored in someway as he quietly studied his nails, as if he didn’t have a ring of marks now lining his slim throat. _I think the more important question here, captain, is what your buyer wanted with an ancient killing machine from across the Trackless Sea._

The killing machine in question glanced up innocently, Gooby coddled close in it’s metal arms. “You _sure_ that’s a killing machine?” Lark muttered doubtfully, brows jumping when both Ely and the captain’s voices overlapped in agreement. 

“You saw the way it moved in the basement.” The other man took another drag, and in that moment there was a subtle shake to his hand. “Like a gods damned quickling.” From shadow to shadow, it had seemed to clip through the air, before laying that knife across his pulse silently. “We should have chained it back up.”

“Please. It’s too late for that now Ry.” The Half Orc woman had a peculiar look on her face as she rolled her neck, as if she were studying them. “Maybe that’ll teach you to storm off without any kind of warning.” He puffed sourly in response and she was unflinchingly unbothered by it, giving his beard a tug in reply.

 _I like you._ Ely informed her in a sly little voice, and her grin was immediate.

“Give us a moment, will you?” She stood and cocked her head off to the side as Ryder glanced up at her, aiming towards the door. A private conversation then. Lark had to wonder of what. “And compliments aside, boys, don’t try anything stupid. That gun’s artificed to never miss” Ryder grumbled, but he followed her soundlessly, leaving them, his dog, and the gods damned War Forged, alone in a length of quiet none of them knew how to navigate.

“Well then.” He clapped his hands together, unsure of what else the moment could call for. It was as if he had entered some kind of strange fever dream and he had no idea of what would await him once he woke. “Have to say I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

... _I’m sorry about before._

Fuck rut bother damn it to the hells and back again. Lark cringed, then proceeded to _un_ cringe, not wanting to further upset Ely. “I mean, I understand what you were trying to do. And it worked!” He nodded a little too enthusiastically. “He really didn’t know what to do.”

Ely’s brow folded. _It wasn’t right. And I keep thinking about how it may have made things strange between us._

How did he go about this one? See, he wanted to say, you simply surprised me when you said that, I wasn’t disgusted at all! I’d like to start out a little more simpler and innocent though. Perhaps we go and get dinner by the ocean. You tell me a little bit more about yourself. I play you a stupid song and you love it, coincidentally. We fall in love. Gooby was watching him as he worked through his possible future, as was the War Forged, and he made a frustrated sound. 

“Listen, Ely-” But the door opened before he could fully explain himself, and Lark wanted to tear out his hair and cry. It did come as a surprise that Yevon was the only one who entered, looking beyond exhaustion despite it not even being midnight. “Where’s the captain?” He couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the best of him.

She took her place back at the opposite side of the table, laying the pistol between them easily. “Ryder had to take a walk. He’s had a bad feeling about this damn thing since we rutting found it. Shit’s hard hitting.” Her gaze flicked to Ely’s and Lark saw her face change. A first mate taking charge. A woman holding her own. “...What can you tell me about that thing over there?”

His bruised expression gave away to something sharp and mythril bright. _I’ll start by saying we should probably stop calling it ‘that thing.’ The War Forged aren’t simply machines. They’re sentient creatures, just like you and me. It probably has a name, a gender… a story to tell. Or did. Who knows what it remembers. I_ also _think it’s means to communicate with us are virtually shot._ Ely turned towards the machine, chewing his bottom lip in thought. _I wouldn’t even know where to begin to find some kind of replacement for you. Is it okay if you aren’t able to talk? At least for a little while?_

The War Forged’s metal eyelids worked before he gave a slow nod. _We’ll find you something to write with for now. Lark… if you don’t mind? I’ll be able to reach you too while you move around the room, you’ll hear everything._

Parchment and quill for the War Forged. He could do that. Especially if he could keep listening to this strange and twisting tale, comparable to a bard’s tale sung in heavy rain and low firelight, but better somehow. _There’s a reason none of you know_ what _a War Forged is is that they come from the space between the First and Second Sundering. When the Time of Troubles had reached it’s nadir._

Lark had heard most of this story, as all children had. About how Bane and Myrkul stole the Tablets of Fate from Ao the overgod himself and cast the world into chaos and anarchy. From that had stemmed the Spell Plague. The Tear Fall. _Nothing was as anyone had ever known it to be, and as the gods fought one another for scraps of power in hopes of ascending once more to their prior planes, they came to realize that followers and warriors made of flesh and bone were wasteful, so they simply made new ones._

“An entire race of warriors?” Lark had never heard of anything like it. He looked at the War Forged on the ground again and tried to reconcile the gentle giant that sat among them and a god killing machine. “How is that not in any of Faerun’s history?”

 _Do you think the gods want anyone knowing they’re less than?_ Ely gave a rueful laugh, shaking his head. _They wiped it from history as soon as they could, put all the War Forged down, and watched very, very carefully._

Not carefully enough, it seemed.

Gooby perked and gave a curious whine as Lark returned with the promised goods. The War Forged also perked up, issuing a little creak. He had loosed it into the world after centuries of quietude and waiting. No one had said it, but they all had to be thinking it…

This was his responsibility.

Yevon and Elysium had stopped talking to watch Lark take a careful seat. He didn’t touch the War Forged, but he was quite close. “Here you are.” He held it out, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. Gooby trusted it. Ely did. He could too. “I hope you speak Common. Otherwise we’re shit out of luck.”

It’s shoulders jumped a series of times and Lark came to realize it was laughing, incredibly enough. It really was just like them, wasn’t it? Full of endless capabilities, he began to smile in wonder, inexplicably wonderful.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but this all begs the question of what you’re saying, pretty boy.” Right. They were talking about important things. He had nearly forgot. “Because for being an extinct race that’s been wiped from all of history and humanity, you’re quite knowledgeable.” Yevon mused, words coming to a fine point. And she was right, but he hated it, because the stating behind that implication was a spiritual lifting of her gun, pointed right at them. But she wasn’t touching it, he tried to reassure himself. 

Not yet, not yet...

Ely was unfazed, or maybe he was just really good at not showing it. He folded his hands on top of the table and squeezed them tightly. _You’re asking me an impossible question, Yevon. It’s common knowledge for the Aasimar. Is that fair to say?_

“Barely.” Her words weren’t angry, just brutally honest. “You showing up and letting that thing out and apparently knowing every damn thing about it looks pretty bad, sweet heart. Like you were plotting something and got caught.” But it was me, Lark wanted to scream. I was the one that opened the damned lock. “I’m trying my damn hardest to keep my husband from getting the lot of you thrown into jail and taking that thi- taking our new companion apart.”

The War Forged stood with it’s back straight, papers tucked against his chest piece. Did they have that right? To take it’s life so willingly? Lark didn’t want it. The very thought causing his heart to twist up.

 _Then answer my question, and I’ll answer yours._ Ely leaned across the table, locks of his hair covering the gun. A secret for a secret. A trade of revealing. _Just what is Ryder Meouch?_

_~_

Are you satisfied? Ryder asked himself, with blood on his hands and gore in his mouth.

Yes. No. Never. Always. It was this constant push-pull between him and the thing pacing inside his rib cage. A momentary relishing before it came rushing back ten fold. His most necessary guilty pleasure in which the gratification was instantaneous, but never enough. He slumped to the ground with a small sound, face turning up to the crescent moon, becoming human again. Becoming himself.

He didn’t know if he could make it back to the inn tonight. He had told Yevon as much as they stepped out into the dark, too close to bursting out of his very skin with fangs heavy in his mouth. Too much had happened in too short of a time. He had almost killed that boy before.

The beast had wanted it, after all, and in a way- so had he

All Ryder felt now though was the night air against his skin as he collected both his breath and his thoughts. Burying the body of the deer he had just mauled is what he ought to be doing, but the thought of touching it so soon was too much. Usually he didn’t come back to himself this quickly, the human side of him fleeing as far as possible from his awful, gory shame. So he sat there with his chest heaving, the slick on his arms cooling with every thump-thump-beat of his heart in agony.

“That’s them and you know it.” Yevon’s voice called from his memories when the silence got to be too much. She had reached for him and he had jerked away quickly, not wanting to lash out. She didn’t even pause to look hurt, hurtling on. “That’s who Synthea was telling us about.”

She wasn’t wrong. Ryder had sensed it the moment the coffin unlocked and they had all stood on the threshold. A Human, an Aasimar, a War Forged, and him, a lost cause… 

What a rutting joke this all was.

Ryder brought the back of his wrist to his forehead, painfully aware that he was simply spreading the mess around. What he truly wanted, more than anything really, was to slip into a hot bath and temporarily forget everything. To not be bound and fated. To not be this. Maybe that’s why he was hesitant to go back to the inn. Because he knew the moment he stepped through that door that he would no longer be Leon Ryder Meouch.

He’d be a part of something. A set of four against the world and whatever it held in store.

“Forget it.” He stumbled to his feet unsteadily, the forest pulsing around him with dark mystery. He’d go home and play nice, then drag them all to Synthea and demand she clarify. Reverence and veil drawing be damned. He wanted answers. He wanted to be done with this already and it had only just begun. “Torm, help me.” Ryder threw to the sky. Self sacrifice and duty. That’s what he had to commit to now.

‘But what if you didn’t have to?’ 

Shoulders jolting, Ryder slowly scanned the woods, keen ears straining to catch the strange voice a second time. It had seemed to come from somewhere both near and far. Behind him and yet to his left, his right, right in front of him.

‘Almost. It’s not that easy though.’

Below him? Above him? No. It was somehow _inside_ of him, filling him up. He felt sick at the realization, everything he had just torn through too close to coming out. ‘Don’t think about it too much.’ It chuckled. ‘Listen now.’

Breathe, Ryder. There were plenty of monsters that could slip into your brain. Mundus Muli was not without it’s faults, even with the Matron’s protections, and the Underdark’s sprawl was simply an inevitability. Ryder started forward without any kind of a response, gulping against the trembling of his body and trying not to dwell on what was truly happening. ‘Life is full of choices, Leon. _Everything_ can be changed. We learn new magics, new ideas, new things every day.’ It sounded ravenous, if that could even be a thing. It made him move quicker. Made his heart skip a beat. 

And thus, he began to list off the names of gods, equal parts pushing the voice out and invocation. Tymora, Ilmater, Silvanus and Helm. Eldath, Mielikki, even Selune. It was unbothered. Hells, it was _amused_ . ‘They can’t help you. No one can but yourself. This is the dawn of man, Leon. The gods don’t care anymore.’ No. _He_ didn’t care. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care at all. ‘What’s so wrong of taking control of your own destiny?’ It posed on a purr.

“Nothing.” He barked before it could help himself. Terrible idea really, to be replying to a disembodied voice. It was at the top of the list of things that could not-should not-would not be considered smart. The bastard wasn’t wrong either. It had just picked the wrong man to try and convince, even if he was half out of it. “Listen. You’re going to have to find a more weak willed son of a bitch to follow through on your evil plans.” Ryder hissed as he tromped through the woods. “I’ve got better things to do.”

‘Like die for a cause you don’t even believe in.’ Gods, he wanted it _out_. ‘Among men you don’t even know. That you don’t even trust.’

The beast inside was surprisingly quiet during all of this. Cowed by the thing’s presence, simply sated, or something else? It didn’t matter though because he had nearly made it out of the woods. He could see the inn and it was a breaking of symbolic daylight upon his frayed nerves. ‘Think on it, will you?’ The voice murmured.

And then it was gone.

The world seemed to remember itself in it’s absence. Ryder could hear animals rustling in the underbrush, small fae traipsing about. He could practically taste the humidity on his blood coated tongue. There was a single light on in the inn as he spied it, and despite him not even being in it for one night, it already felt like home.

 _Find Synthea, get your answers, do what has to be done._ It wasn’t a complex mantra, but what it stood for was. Some great power beyond their realm, their gods… _Save the day, kiss your wife._ He told himself as he approached the door. _Finally have a kid maybe, forget this life._

“Don’t ask stupid questions. It’s none of your business and I don’t want to talk about it.” He stated as he walked through the front door. The Human man went dangerously pale at the sight of him, making an announcement that he needed a moment before promptly lunging towards the bathroom. “You got a problem with this?” He grunted at Aasimar and War Forged with Yevon’s gaze on his back, boring into him. 

_No. I’m quite used to blood, actually._ The Aasimar crossed one leg over another, liquid smooth. _And it’s probably for the best._

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told them what you are.”

His mouth fell open in disbelief and shock. How? Why? Yevon had her chin jutted and her jaw set, eyes quietly burning. “...That’s not your truth to tell.” He told her in a rasping voice, trying to push down his mounting fury, lest the beast catch wind of it. 

_And neither was mine, but I told her everything._

One secret for what? Hundreds of thousands? What the hell did he mean? “Ry, Ely’s… he’s, well, he’s god spawn.”

Truly nothing in his life felt real anymore. Everything… meaning the Aasimar’s origins? What they had come from however long ago. “You missed a lot.” Yevon murmured in a coaxing voice. “Elysium started by telling us about what the War Forged really is, and I told him it seemed suspicious.” She was right, the more rational side of him insisted distantly. She would never betray you without just cause. She would never out you like that. “So we made a deal. I told him what you were, and he told me… well, you heard him, he told me everything.”

So now they knew. That a Shifter walked among them, a wolf in sheep’s clothes. Or maybe it was better to say a lion behind the mask he had so carefully crafted after years of struggle and remorse. “Your secret’s safe.” He told the boy he had tried to choke no more than an hour ago, his own voice thick and low. Stranger and stranger yet. The Wheel kept turning...

_As is yours, Ryder. So long as we protect the War Forged._

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned off. I’ll fill you in.” And apologize, her gaze said. Leave it to Yevon to feel sorry even if she had been right in the long run. He went to touch her cheek, only to remember how gross he was. “And Ely, I think Ryder will agree with me…” Oh? His brows lifted up as he saw her regret fade away. “We got to the temple after this and summon the matron.”

~

_Where have you been?_

Elysium had had a million things racing through his mind, and the first lighting of Hiraeth’s voice upon his voice had barely registered. It came again though, needling it’s way in until he was forced to heed it’s repeating litany. _Where have you been where have you been where have you been Ely where have you been-?_

_Stop. Please._

It had finally happened. He had been telling himself over and over throughout the night that it would only be a matter of time before his best friend woke up and found him missing. It was just that Elysium hadn’t been expecting to be waist deep in a pile of shit he couldn’t even begin to start explaining when it did. More like… on the beach with Lark… maybe kissing him.

So much for that stupid little fantasy.

 _I’m okay._ He started by saying as he followed the rest of the group, keeping his voice nonchalant. And…? _And I’m a little busy._

 _You’re busy?_ Came Hiraeth’s dead voiced response, making Elysium realize how stupid the excuse was. Not as clever as he had been in the basement, it seemed. _With what?_

Too, too much. He stared at the backs of everyone he had suddenly found himself caught up with, trying to make sense of where his life was now. Lark, the War Forged, Yevon, Meouch. _It all happened all at once._ Another lie. Another strike. He _hated_ that this had become his life. _It’s hard to explain. I’m still trying to get everything figured out._

_Then why didn’t you call for me?”_

_Because…_ Therein laid the ultimate question.

Why hadn’t he?

Lark was up ahead, babbling his head off as he led Gooby along on a rope leash. The War Forged had his (as they had recently discovered) head bowed towards him, clearly listening. Yevon was laughing at whatever the Human man was saying, and even Ryder had a hitch to his mouth, leaning towards a smiling smirk.

Because, Hiraeth, you don’t fit into the shape of this new life I’ve found.

He couldn’t say that but the thought was impossible to ignore. He couldn’t close his eyes and picture Hiraeth among them as much as he desperately wanted to. That wasn’t to say that they were an abscess he needed to cut out though. Far from it. It was a matter of this and that. Like two separate spheres that could never meet no matter how much Elysium hoped and prayed and wanted it.

_What’s happening to us?_

He came to a full stop in the middle of the road. Their words were pure anguish, which caused Elysium’s own heart to clench. _Have I truly pushed you that far away?_ Hiraeth continued in a tear choked voice. _Do you suddenly hate me?_

 _No, Hir, I could never._ He tried to swallow but his throat felt too tight, protests clogging it’s length. _Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can talk about all of this-_

_I’m leaving tonight._

It was akin to a slap straight across his face, causing him to recoil immediately. _No, Hiraeth. Please._ Elysium begged as panic began to flit across his chest, breath coming up short. Where would they go? What was happening? _What about the Calling?_

 _Make a decision._ He was going to be sick. Ely gasped and clutched at his stomach as the world slid into a vicious tilting. _You can do whatever it is that you’re doing, or we can do our duty and move on._

“Ely?” Someone was calling him. He didn’t care.

 _I just need a few hours._ He whispered faintly, a violent shudder tearing down his spine. They couldn’t be separated. Not after all this time. Not because of a few stupid lies. _Please…_

“Elysium!” The voice was frantic now. Scared. And so was he. He searched for the channel between them when no response came, but it hadn’t been simply cut, he discovered. It had been completely sundered. Torn apart by Hiraeth.

Elysium could feel a scream the likes of which he had never felt before climbing up his throat as he fell to his knees, already keening. Get up. Go. You were already on your way to the temple to summon the matron. You’re so close. But what’s next? After you found them? After you explained yourself? Would Hiraeth care? Would they understand? The thoughts pounded him like an endless storm.

No. 

No.

No. 

No.

No.

He was being gathered up into someone’s arms carefully, their fingers cool against his jaw. Ely leaned into it, eyes squeezed shut against the endless misery, trying to hide from it’s hounding presence. He kept calling Hiraeth’s name into the emptiness as he curled in on himself, body aching and seething with a furious heat. _Pleasepleasepleaseplease…_ I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I deserved this, I’m _sorry._

“Blood Crier, do not fret. It is not your fault.”

Something touched upon his brow and he slowly opened his eyes, coming to witness a Loxodon, done up in loose silks and fine jewelry, all beatific and radiating kindness. “There we are.” She hummed softly. “Welcome back, little one.”

‘Back’ was a space in which his body had been curled carefully into the arm’s of the War Forged, everyone looking down at him. Ely startled but the machine tightened his hold carefully, trapping him quite effectively. “Take your time. Breathe. Readjust. There’s no rush or requirement.”

 _But Hiraeth…_ he croaked, as if she knew what he was talking about.

She shook her head. “Don’t think about them right this second. Think about you. The last thing we want is a Weeping.” 

He _hadn’t_ been hearing things then. She knew, which meant she was who Ryder and Yevon had told them about, the oracle, Synthea Lost-Tusk. She used her trunk to brush his hair back from his face, her eyes kind and patient with the action. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Elysium. You’re quite the special one.”

Her phrasing was half lost on him but Elysium still murmured a gentle thanks, watching as she stood with a soft grunting sound. “You’d think... I was a crone instead of a maid somedays.” Synthea grumbled to herself as she dusted her skirts off. Someone cleared their throat, either Yevon or Ryder, and she gave a sheepish trumpeting before greeting them. “Merry meet, my friends!”

No one looked enthusiastic, even Lark, who’s entire being was made for joy and merriment. He shot Elysium a worried glance before he stepped towards her, Gooby panting quietly. “Merry meet.” He didn’t bow, but he did incline his head some. “It is an honor to meet you, matron.”

“Such manners.” She tittered with a broad smile. “Many to thank in the College for all of that.”

He stood a little straighter, looking simultaneously proud and surprised. “I owe the College my life.” Lark told her. “I wouldn’t be the man that I am if not for them. Hells, I wouldn't even be here.”

“Oh I’m aware. Oracle, remember?” She put her hands on her hips and studied all of them. He could see a hundred questions bristling along Ryder’s tongue, but he managed to keep it from wagging, giving Synthea the opportunity to continue. “As to be expected, Leon didn’t tell you why you’re here-”

The captain swore loudly, apparently well beyond caring that this woman was one of the most powerful beings able to walk through Faerun. “Don’t ruttin’ call me that!” He hollered before clamping his lips shut, whipping his head back and forth before pointing an accusing finger her way. “That’s not my name!!!” 

“One could say it’s landlubber.” Yevon said under her breath. “That, or my favorite bag-o-beans, quite honestly.”

Ryder was incredulous. Embarrassed. Both. “I can and will actually divorce you, Yevon.”

She flipped her hair and waggled her eyebrows winningly. “After what I’ve done tonight? Oh please. This is nothing, sweet heart.”

Now Yevon was looking at him and belatedly Ely came to realize she was trying to get him to laugh, that or cheer him up at the very least. He frowned instead without even trying, meaning to really, turning his head away to sink further against the War Forged, still needing the respite.

He had _never_ had that happen before and he had almost reached his breaking point. It had been a strange feeling, like the very blood inside his body was trying to boil out of him. Burn him from the inside. “Let’s get back to what’s important.” Synthea was saying. “The reason why we’ve all gathered here. From across the Trackless Sea.” Her eyes landed on Ryder. “To Zakhara and Angeal before that.” She looked to him. “And all of Mundus Muli and Faerun.” She looked at Lark and the War Forged. “From beyond these places and time as we know it.”

“And what’s this all for?” Lark questioned, and there was a thread of excitement in his voice.

“To stop the Illithid.” She beamed. “To fight the good fight, you see.”


	5. Chapter 5

Now Lark _knew_ he was an excitable person. He _knew_ how common it was for him to overreact, to get loud and rambunctious and rowdy, to place bets on losing dogs and horses because he had “a good feeling about it!” this time. So when he heard Synthea say not one, but _two_ words with a personal connection to him, he kind of-sort of screamed.

Not a bloody murder, curdling kind. Just… a feral scaling of his excitement as he nearly bursted at the seams. It caused everyone to jerk and flinch and check their surroundings, as if something had appeared there that would rightly kill them. All but the War Forged and Synthea, that was, the former simply cocking his head left and right as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

“Isn’t screaming _bad_ for your vocal cords?” Synthea wondered in a small and polite voice, as if she was afraid she would offend him, but the question barely registered. Of course it was connected! As were they all were! He wasn’t a fond believer of things like fate but this was all just… too incredible not to. Lark’s breath quickened with the possibility, palms sweating, excitement beginning to grow and grow-

“Steady.” Ryder’s hand pressed to his shoulder in a quiet warning. “Don’t need you faintin’ too right on the heels of Elysium.” Gods. He was right, Lark thought on a pause and a shaky exhale. The Aasimar still looked ashen under his ruddy skin as the War Forged helped him to his feet, taking a not-so-subtle stand behind him, a silent guardian. “You mind telling the rest of us what you’re going on about, Synthea?” The captain said, voice as rough as an unfinished blade. Lark could clearly see how Ryder was a Shifter in this moment, truly. He walked with an unnatural grace for a man of his size and his voice lay along a low and heavy murmur, ramping up whenever he lost control of the situation. Something that seemed quite common now that Lark thought of it, but that fact could fall upon the shoulders of their circumstantial meeting, is all. “Or is this all behind your bullshit veil too?”

“It’s _not_ bullshit.” Lark interjected, only half understanding. “I told Ely about it earlier! About how the firewisps spoke to me. They said that name too.” He wrestled himself away from Ryder to approach Synthea, a hot tightness finding space in his chest. “And the other part. You-” He didn’t even know where to begin with that one. He bit his bottom lip. Watched the way she watched him. She would know. She would have to. “I’ve been dreaming of this song, this... story really, for months now-”

Synthea made a knowing sound, giving a slow, almost sad nod at him. “A premonition of what’s to come.”

“Great. Now we’ve got _two_ prophets.” Ryder took to stomping away. Pacing, Lark figured, like a lion in a cage. Yevon was uncharacteristically despondent too, arms wrapped around her middle as she watched the perimeter. “When I speak of the Illithid, I speak of a thing that does not exist. Not yet, at least, as it is only nearing us. It is an aberration that travels through the very span of space-time.” Synthea gestured to the sky above them. “A monster that seeks dominion over everything.”

 _Lofty goals._ Elysium’s voice was barely even a whisper. _But you could say the same of many things_. Gods, monsters, Fae and even common folk, he meant but kept unspoken. Everybody wanted something they couldn’t have. Some others than most, risking everything.

“Why in the nine hells are these gods from beyond picking people like us to beat it? Because those two I get.” He pointed at Ely and the War Forged. “They’re special. But me and Lark? I’m a shit Shifter who’s barely got any control on his good days, and Lark, he’s… well…” He scoffed. “He’s loud, I suppose.”

“Excuse you, you bastard! You were just calling me a prophet a few seconds ago!” _Was_ he a prophet? Wouldn’t that be something to shove in Humble’s face when this was all done and over with. Yes, I am a prophet of Mundus Muli, everything I see is a sign of what’s to come so you have to listen to me now!

Ryder smirked and poked him in the middle of his chest. “You’re a tiny little nuisance, is what.”

Yevon snorted at that but otherwise kept her face turned and neutral. At least he had Gooby… who’s neck he now hugged as he went kneeling, forcing himself to take a deep breath and do what Ryder had said in the first place. Calm down. “The gods chose us for a reason and we have to honor that. They saw something in us. Some… hidden potential.” Those words felt familiar too, albeit distantly, like some half forgotten day dream. “This is what can be said. That we were destined to meet as the Illithid was set to arrive. And that through our combined efforts, we can hold it back for some time.”

 _Some time?_ Ely said what they were all thinking. No. Not Ely. The War Forged, apparently. He had his parchment extended to the Aasimar, moonlight bouncing off his broken metal form. “...It will come again and again. It is an inevitability.” Synthea confessed as the air thickened with an undeniable tension. “It seeks to escape it’s death at the end of the universe, so it breaches every world that it can find, hoping to find the answer.”

“Well that’s encouraging.” Yevon gave a tut of her tongue. “I can also see why you didn’t mention any of this before when it was just me and Ry.” Was she angry? Had something happened that he missed? Lark was desperate to find a time to sit with Ely and the War Forged and get a feel for what was truly going on. And, he reminded himself, he had to check in on Ely too once everything had settled down. 

The image was still in his head, indelible. The curving of his spine, the silent scream crawling towards his mouth, fingers curling until Lark could swear they would break apart. His body had been an effigy of pure suffering as the Human had cried his name, breaking only when the War Forged gathered him up into his arms, moments before Synthea came to them.

Lark may have opened that coffin and unleashed him, but it was clear who the machine favored out of all of them.

“I think we all need a break.” All of the ethereal energy that had seemed to pour off of her disappeared in an instant, leaving a young and tired woman behind. She brushed her trunk across her forehead, voice pitched low and haggard. “Much has happened today, and everyone’s bodies require rest. You three are invited to the private chambers of the temple.” Ely’s face became unreadable at the offering, that cool facade of his failing to slip back on. “As are you two, of course. I’m just aware you would rather go back to the inn.”

Ryder nodded. “We have to be ready if the buyer shows up.” His hand was at the small of Yevon’s back, his face already turned close to hers, two bodies, two lovers, in perfect sync. “Figure out how to explain that one.” His tone was even similar to that of the Half-Orc's from before. Not angry. Just honest. Clipped with exhaustion. “We can all meet around midday tomorrow, if that’s alright, either here or the inn.”

“It’s safer here at the temple under our protections.” Gooby, it seemed, had come to realize that Ryder and Yevon were taking their leave and ran up to them, demanding goodbye pets and last minute affections. “I’ll be awake quite early. So whenever you need me.” He would not be, but Lark decided against sharing that thought, instead inclining his head towards the couple who did it right back. “Shall we?”

“Keep an eye on pretty boy.” Yevon tossed the words at him with a wink and Lark flushed pathetically. Gods, he hoped it wasn’t that obvious… “See you in the morning. Try not to have too much fun, little one.”

~

The world was so very different from what it had been when he had first come to life.

The War Forged made sure to keep every step quiet and careful as they made like ghosts through the temple grounds. How astounding it was that a place like this could be an actuality. A careful compiling of things he could have never imagined as he had held an endless battle front. 

Past the hushed water cutting through the moonstone and the starlight falling through the ceilings of glass, past the heavy smell of incense and flowers sighing through the night. It was truly ethereal. A dream that had fully realized itself.

And that was just the beginning, they all came to realize.

Synthea’s private chambers were even more splendid somehow. Done up with countless swaths of silk hanging from the domed ceiling, a mosaic floor made of rainbow… He kept his touch light as he slid his hands along one of the bed’s countless pillows, needing to feel, wanting to experience really, how this way of living felt. “We couldn’t have picked a nicer killing machine.” He heard Lark comment under his breath in astonishment, getting him to laugh quietly.

Nothing more of his past life had come flooding back since Lark had granted him his freedom. Despite that, the War Forged knew it hadn’t had indulgences such as these. Not even the most bare necessities. You did not sleep, you did not think, you did not pause, you did not grieve. All it was, all it had been, was an endless spanning of rage and bloodshed. Living to fight another day over and over again until your body broke into pure nothing or you were finally laid to waste.

Ely remained a ghost as he toed his boots off, each movement spun of air and sylph like. It was a stark contrast to when Lark had called the Aasimar’s name in the reaching shadow of the temple as his spine seemed to bend itself in half, voice tinged with desperation. The War Forged was still trying to make sense of his own reaction to it. All instantaneous reflex, exactly like when Ryder had tried to choke Ely. 

It thrummed through him even now. A need to protect. To guard these two other men. If he dove deeper, he knew he would do the same for Synthea, for Yevon, even Ryder’s able self.

Lark was right. He _wasn’t_ very good at this.

‘I can keep watch.’ He wriggled the parchment until the Human paused his animated explorings. ‘I don’t require sleep.’

Straightening with a giggle, Lark gave an easy roll of his gem eyes. “I don’t think you’d want to after being in that coffin for so long, friend.” He did not know how it was possible, but Lark Sung was distilled sunshine and joy shaped into Human form. How one could be so untroubled in the face of sprawling mystery and danger, with hands clean of sin and soul shining, seemed nigh impossible, and yet here he was. “Truth be told, I don’t even think you have to keep watch in a place like this though.” He whispered with a conspirator’s grin, as if it were a secret for just for the two of them. 

Old habits die hard, it seemed. The War Forged’s shoulders curled forwards as he issued a pleased huff, fingers finding their way to Lark’s raven feather crown of curls and petting through the lot of them. And oh, to see Lark not so much as flinch, but instead press up into the gesture with a sweet and wanting sound... Thank you, he wished he could say the words out loud, knowing they’d hold a different, more meaningful weight if such a thing was possible. For trusting me, for thinking of me.

For making me feel human. 

On the other side of the room was the other side of his current reality. Synthea speaking to Elysium in a low and coaxing tone, as if she needed to convince him. “This is our destiny, it doesn’t belong to any other. They wouldn’t have a place among us-”

“But Yevon’s still here. Lark has a _dog_.” He gave a cruel little laugh, and his features were that of a haunted man when the War Forged slipped a furtive glance his way. “If something’s coming, I owe it to them.”

“Please. Sleep on it.” She wrapped her trunk around his wrist and squeezed, gentle but tight. Half threat, half comfort, all under a murmured pretense and pointed eyes. Seemed like he’d be playing guardian after all, lest Ely try to traipse into the night. “I can’t promise you their return, but it’s plausible.” 

Oh? The War Forged gave a small tilt of his head as Lark wriggled away, excited and oblivious. Did that mean she could only see them and their supposed destinies? Only able to clearly follow the countless threads they seemed to share? Or was she just spinning her words, trying to persuade him? “Going after them as you are now will only make things worse, Elysium.” 

The Aasimar set his jaw and inhaled sharply. Ely was infinitely harder to put into phrasing. Somehow an exercise in both cunning and severity, ever a clouded moon slipping across a pitch black sky. Buried deep though, hidden by the hard slant of his brow and the quicksilver of his wording, there was an incredible kindness to be found. A heart of soft forbearing. A smile made of love.

The Aasimar turned his face as if to hide the aching, the growing, gnawing need. “I understand.” Ely lied, causing both worry and pity to take root inside of the War Forged. This is what it meant to _be_ someone, wasn’t it? He thought as he studied Elysium. To risk punishment and anger, even forfeit your life if you saw fit all because you cared for another, all of your own volition…

Oh, how he wanted it.

“Thank you again for your hospitality.” Ely murmured and bent himself into a bow, which Synthea waved off with an easy hum, as she seemed very prone to doing.

“Oh please, it is my pleasure. Now Lark? Mister War Forged?” For a moment the worry slid from his thinking, amusement over the nickname and endearment towards the Loxodon now at the forefront. “I will be taking my leave now. Do call if you need anything, but I’ll have you know right now, I am a woman who enjoys her beauty sleep.” 

She winked in his direction and the War Forged felt his eyes squint. There was another thing that he couldn’t get a grasp on in this new day and age. All the _subtlety_. Even if a lie wasn’t being spun it seemed as if no one wanted to speak candidly. Seek the answer strung across my wording. See if you can find it, they seemed to tease far too eagerly and all too much. It only made his head hurt, is what.

And thus it was the three of them again after she had seemingly floated off to her sleeping chambers, well, three and Gooby. Lark gave an awful grin at the realization and began to remove his knapsack and instrument before hurtling towards the bedding with a reckless abandon. Typical behavior, he was beginning to learn.

“My gods! I have never felt something so incredible!” He crowed from the recesses of wherever he had landed. It was quite hard to tell given his inherent smallness and the large, engulfing capabilities of the bed. “It’s as if I’ve been transported to a kingdom of clouds!” He gave a low whistle and Gooby had leapt up excitedly at it, digging at the sheets with his massive paws before settling down with a pleased huff. “Don’t take my word for it, gentlemen, come on!”

Ely rubbed his arms, looking vaguely uncomfortable and almost displaced by Lark’s keen offering. The War Forged, however, dropped his full weight into the blankets and let himself sink down, down, down. Oh, he let out a garbled sound of delight, how lovely. Just as Lark had said it would. “Right!? I told you! Come Ely, there’s a spot for you between us. No Gooby. Not you! Damn it, dog!”

But nothing came. No. Ely had not so much as moved when the War Forged finally looked at him, mind elsewhere from this room. His body drawn taut and still, eyes begging for his need to be loosed swiftly, to find whoever he was looking for out there in that wild world. His worry grew, a choking weed of a thing, blotting everything else out. He had not forgotten the way Ely had trembled as he had took him into his arms, the way his body had seemed unable to contain his feelings. 

Lark seemed to recognize the too odd quiet also, body sitting itself upright, worry creasing his brow and pursing his mouth. “...Would you like to talk?” He asked in a tender, reaching voice.

 _I’d like many things._ Elysium folded the words into their heads carefully. He looked like a painting under the glassy skylight, silver hair made into moon fire, cool and bright. One had to wonder who had sired him and gave him his purpose in the world. What god he stemmed from. Had the War Forged served them? Had he taken up sword and shield and taken blow after blow in their name? For their glory? _I’m not sure where I’d even start._

“Everyone will tell you at the beginning, but where’s the fun in that?” Lark hummed. “I mean it, Elysium, you can tell me… tell _us_ anything.” The War Forged nodded for good measure after he had said that. He oh-so-desperately wanted that trust. “In fact, that gives me an idea, I’ll start by telling _you_ something. Did you know I have a birthmark that looks like an apple on my arse?”

Ely snorted, then covered his nose and mouth, as if regretting reacting as such. _How would I know that!?_

Lark shrugged, all grins now, laughter barely contained. “Humble does, the poor bastard. Seen it more times than he can probably count! But this is where it gets tricky. Take a guess as to what cheek it’s on.”

_Lark…_

“Really! Come on! Try!” 

Having a strange gut feeling, the War Forged waggled his left hand, and Lark gave a great whoop of a laugh. “Bugger all, you got it, a point for you my strange and lovely metal friend! Ely.” He dropped his face dramatically, voice dripping with woe and disdain. “You’re losing. I know you can do better than that.”

Ely made a spluttering sound. _By the Wheel, I-_

He perked up immediately, apparently already having forgotten the discretion. “Next item of interest!” Lark held up a finger, tongue peeking between his teeth as his eyes lit on fire. The War Forged couldn’t help but feel his excitement too, as if it were a part of him. “I once bought an enchanted lyre with electrum strings. Couldn’t play it for shit, as it burnt my fingers every time I attempted, but the sound it would make… like none other! You couldn’t even begin to imagine it.”

Something in Ely’s face changed, now rueful, amused. He seemed to glide in their direction before standing at the foot of the cloud-bed, releasing the leather tie from his hair. _You would._ He sounded the way Yevon and Ryder did towards one another when he spoke to Lark like that. Bespotted and smitten, as if a yearning cantrip had fallen over him. So this was love. Fledgling, perhaps, in it’s nascence… but plain faced and undeniable. The War Forged had to wonder if such a thing was possible for him, then if he was want for it…

There were many kinds of love to be found in one’s life, he decided as he stared at their strange little grouping, and the sense of belonging he had found with all of these people was one of them.

_You do realize anything I say now is going to be quite depressing compared to what you’ve just shared so willingly._

Lark’s smile became just a bit dimmer, sadder. “That’s another thing about telling stories. They’re not always happy. But despite that, there’s always some good that can be found, even when you’re not looking for it.” Faster than lightning in the pause that followed, perhaps as fastly as he had acted in the basement somehow, Lark was tugging Ely into the cradle of their bodies with another one of his awful cackling laughs. The Aasimar gasped and fell into them with a mess of limbs which the War Forged helped him fix accordingly, unperturbed by Lark’s inherent chaos. “Welcome! You’ve made it!” The Human hummed.

Ely tried to blow his hair out of his face and failed miserably, as there was much of it. _Not of my own volition, I’ve not!_

“Yes, well. This is what we like to call the plot twist.” The War Forged eyed Lark judgingly at that response and the Human stuck his tongue out. “Another fundamental tool to one’s story, but always unexpected.”

Why do I feel like your entire life is a plot twist Lark, the War Forged wanted to say. He stayed laying there, too tired to get his parchment, breathing slowly as he adjusted to this new way of life. “Speaking of plot twists, let’s discuss what’s happened tonight.” Lark waggled his fingers towards the starlight. “A recount, if you will.”

 _Oh, your speciality. Go on then._ Ely smirked and the War Forged could feel himself mimicking it, just as entertained by Lark’s strange and delightful means of existence.

Lark was sweetly unbothered, perhaps performing another exercise in obliviousness, or perhaps used to it by now. Apparently too tired to grab his instrument, just as the War Forged was. “Yes well! After releasing our ancient, spiky friend from his abominable prison, we found ourselves held at gunpoint. I’m sure we all remember that.” Lark began to tick off his fingers. “And in a great gamble, you, what one may call the dark and mysterious protagonist, revealed his true nature in order to secure our safety.”

 _It wasn’t that incredible._ Ely spluttered. _And I’m no protagonist, Lark._

Lark made a terrible face and huffed. “Yes _you_ are! You’re a child of a god!” 

_One that I don’t even know. They can’t trace my blood back to anything…_ Elysium mumbled disheartenedly. 

“So what!?” Lark gave the War Forged a look as if to say can you believe this? The War Forged rolled his shoulders soundlessly, more intent on listening, curious to see when and if their paths had met. “I don’t even know who my mother and father are! Bother them! We focus on the future now. Which brings us to the most important thing of all!” He clapped his fist into his hand, semi-startling Gooby. “That Illithid thing has another thing coming now that our lives have aligned. We’re heroes! That’s what we’re here for!” Lark gave a great and hearty chortle, looking much too smug for his own good, sounding very much like someone who had never been to battle. Who had laid a friend to rest. 

Ely didn’t respond right away, turning his face skyward instead, and the War Forged again found himself copying him. That was one thing that had not changed after all this time. The heavens above. Even as he had knelt among a hundred thousand bodies, even as he found himself coated in the black blood of his brethren, the sky was the one constant the War Forged knew he had. 

Only death could take it from him, and he would never allow that.

 _I would have never thought myself a hero of_ anything _._ Elysium finally whispered, almost to himself. _Especially one taking on something that doesn’t even exist, technically._ He laced his fingers across his stomach and curled his toes. _Lark. Aren’t you afraid…?_ _  
_

Something new came over Lark’s face. Looking so strange that the War Forged was almost unable to name it at first. “Oh, of course.” His voice was painfully soft, brave facade fading somehow both fast and slow. Leaving a man that looked so young behind. Wide eyed. Innocent. “I’m not daft, Elysium. There was this moment in the forest where… gods, I could feel the cusp of my own mortality.” He reached his hand up and snapped his fingers to his palm almost violently. A snuffing of sorts. “Like death itself was dogging me. Pun _not_ intended.” He gave a helpless chuckle and went to pet Gooby, and the moment became breathable again.

Still. Lark laid back after he was done. Closed his eyes and swallowed and pitched his voice into a whisper. “And now I’m thinking about the spaces we leave. About how one day I’ll stop singing.” His throat worked again and his voice came out on a warbling note. “And I’d like to think in those spaces, in that lack, I won’t become a forgotten memory.” And despite Ely being between them Lark’s free hand reached for his and he found himself taking it eagerly but carefully, gripping it like a lifeline. “That one day, a hundred years from now, a thousand even, someone will be reading about Lark Sung and Elysium, a War Forged and a dog, of two pirates and a matron, and the thing they beat back into oblivion.”

This… this was a luxury. This moment. This companionship. This feeling of belonging. The War Forged relished in it, frame shuddering. Ely’s hand met theirs in the middle, and slowly sleep began to beckon all of them. _I’d like nothing better._ Ely whispered as the stars shined upon them. _I’d give my all for that._

~

“You’re not leaving me to deal with the buyer by myself.”

He had thought himself clever and able to sneak out into the world’s dawning, but apparently Yevon hadn’t slept a wink last night. She was a sight to behold, simultaneously fully dressed and bristling with weaponry, but with not a mark of her usual makeup to be found. It made the dark circles ringing her eyes painfully obvious. Made her growing rage more so.

“...I wasn’t planning on doin’ that.” He flubbed royally.

Mundus Muli was surprisingly gray outside of their windows and the thing inside of him was already pacing. It knew it had been named and now seemed to be watching him with eager eyes, ready for anything. Rain on the air, mystery unfolding… So much for a day’s worth of peaceful contemplation and discovery. “Gods, I hope Lark isn’t rubbing off on you already. Boy can’t fabricate on the spot to save his life.” Yevon stomped up to him and pulled his beard until he was yelping from it. “I thought we were on the same page, Ry.” She seethed between her teeth; the sharpened, shining points of her golden tusks threatening violence.

“We are!” He didn’t go to slap at her hand, instead huffing and puffing and wincing tragically until she let go, the beast inside snarling pissily. “Gods, woman, that hurt…”

“I’ll give your balls a tug next.” This was lost wedding ring levels of anger, he realized as he paled. Double cross and backstab kind. She’d be cutting off fingers next if Ryder didn’t reign her in somewhat. “If you were lying last night saying everything was fine between us…” She started in a dark voice.  
“Damn it, Yev, I’m _not!_ ” They shouldn’t be doing this here where everyone could hear them. The night prior had already been a mistake but they were well past that. Of course everyone had heard what had happened, they just knew better than to ask of it. “I’m not lying. I’m not mad.” 

Their first talk before they had gone to the temple had been rushed. Yevon’s apology coarse, his bloodied hand finally finding the curve of her cheek and holding it carefully as he told her later, it’s okay, I trust you always. The second falling between their shared breaths, the room dark around them, life giving them a kind and patient pausing as the sweat cooled off their respective backs and shoulder blades.

Talk of godspawn and aberrations had whispered across the covers as their bare feet met. Of unknown futures and endless what-ifs. Ryder had pressed his lips to the top of her head during a great stretch of silence in which neither of them had any kind of answer for what was truly happening anymore, coming to terms that he was secretly grateful that she was not a part of this. Not truly, at least. Not destined for sure death.

But of course, as one damned by Beshaba, as he had been ever since he had stepped foot on this rutting continent, she was right up in his business come morning, eager to fight fate before they had broken their fast. “It’s probably more dangerous for me to be here alone anyways. Oh yes, let me take you down these decrepit stairs, good sir, and show you your empty coffin you wanted to give us all that gold for. Past tense! Why, you ask? Because the contents have gone missing. Run away in the night. Literally. As you probably were aware they could. Oh whatever do you _mean_ the door closed behind us? Now we must fight to the death!”

“Yev…”

“And then either I survive the very probable death battle, miraculously, but I’m then put on trial for murder! Or I die! _Tragically!_ And you become one of those brooding alpha males that pledges himself to avenging my late memory.” 

“Yevon!”

She had her hands clutched dramatically to her bosom as he lit his eyes upon her, crashed onto her knees as she managed a series of exaggerated sniffle-sobs, her lower lip trembling. “And you say Lark’s rubbing off on _me_ , huh?” He said with a dry raise of his eyebrows, unable to keep the fondness out of his tone.

“Oh, fuck off.” Shd dropped the act in an instant before falling face first onto the floor.

Ryder pitched a sigh towards the ceiling before making his way over to her, watching in quiet amusement as she latched onto his boot without so much as looking up. The beast grumbled, finding this all very wasteful and boring, but as usual he ignored it. “You know I’m right.” Yevon muttered after a beat, speaking against the floorboards. “At least partially.”

“I suppose.” The Shifter knelt and tipped Yevon’s face up, locking his eyes with hers. “So tell me your course of action then, first mate.”

Her eyes glimmered just a little bit before she schooled her features into complete seriousness, all the earlier flair and dramatics gone like they were nothing. “We go, to start. Tell the crew to send after us if and when the buyer arrives. It’s not as if we’re attempting to flee the continent. He had been waiting nearly a year for someone to grab his mark from the Sea Robber’s Bazaar. What’s another hour? Especially to meet and finish his dealings with the captain who took up his asinine quest.” Despite her best efforts, the beginnings of a grin began to slip across her broad features. “It’s nothing too out of the ordinary, nothing he should put a fuss up over lest he appear suspicious.” 

“My Lady of Deception.” Ryder whispered in wicked delight. He meant it, of course, but it was also laid upon a little thickly to appease the last dredges of her anger. “How your brain works.”

“Psh, you were thinking it too, sweet heart.” She narrowed her eyes, but she was clearly pleased by the phrasing and agreement. Gods, her smile made everything a little easier, didn’t it? Even the kernel of guilt nestled deep inside of him, the secret of the voice from the forest still tucked away, relented momentarily. He would tell everyone soon enough. He just wanted to give it time, see if it came crawling back to him, figure out why the beast almost seemed to ignore it… Besides, if it was really that dangerous, something worth noting, Synthea would address it.

...Right?

Ryder nearly shook his head at himself. No dwelling. Only moving forward. Until they found the end of this story. “Come on now, off the floor, I bet the lot of them are already waiting for us.” He had to wonder if they’d have food waiting for them or if they should get something in town. Take a singular moment to be locals. To be normal. To be carefree and young.

“Carry me.” She grinned awfully before pressing her mouth to his palm, kissing along the callused skin. “Like we’re newly weds once more.”

Ryder’s brows flew up into his hairline. “All the way to the temple?” He blustered disbelievingly. 

Yevon turned coy, humming sweetly. “Until I’m no longer tired, good husband.”

The Shifter gave a great big snort, unable to resist poking fun at her. “And who’s fault is tha-ARGH!” She had bitten him with a terrible smirking! And now he was bleeding from his thumb! “OW!”

The beast curled it’s lip and growled.

Turned out that everyone _but_ Lark and the war dog were awake and waiting for them already when they arrived, the process made longer than usual because yes, he _had_ ended up carrying Yevon on his back for a good chunk of time. (“Not the same!” She had moaned against the back of his head as he told her to climb up and hold tight. “Not fair!”) It was all made worth it though the moment he spied the gods damned feast that had been laid out for them.

Biscuits with jam, freshly cut fruits, gods damned bacon. Ryder stole a piece immediately without any kind of greeting, shoving it down his gullet. “You don’t get this kind of shit out at sea.” He explained through a mouth full of food as everyone watched him in silent horror, grabbing three more pieces as well as a link of sausage. “It’s all hardtack and jerky and meager, tepid water stores. Brava doesn’t let us shoot down any seagulls either. Says they’re his distant brethren.” He was half joking, half not. Elysium didn’t look entertained in the slightest by his jesting, and Ryder was this close to asking if Lark had said it would he be laughing by now? But he thought better of it and poured a handful of blueberries into his mouth, chewing openly, not caring who he offended.

“Aw, always a landlubber at heart.” Yevon had a knife out to peel the apple she had plucked up for herself. She and Synthea had traded a singular glance as they had entered the garden together but otherwise both women had kept to themselves. It wasn’t animosity so much as it was a simple confliction all from Yevon’s side. A chasm that yawned deep and wide with hurt and confusion. Something they’d have to figure out at a different time. “Give me some of that. My gods, you’re a heathen.”

“I’m hungry, woman, there’s a difference.”

 _Barely_. Ely was scraping food onto a plate none too discreetly. Probably for Lark when he deigned himself ready to join them. _Though_ _it’s nice to see you’re both in good spirits on this rainy day._

“Could say the same to you, pretty boy.” Yevon gestured easily with her knife. “Surprised our little friend isn’t here instead of you after that stunt you put on last night.” The Aasimar colored, but kept his stare straight on. “Has that already been addressed, I have to ask, because I’m _very_ curious.”

Synthea finally broke her silent meditative state. “We were waiting for Lark to join us, actually, before delving into that and what our plan was moving forward. Mister War Forged. I think it’s time we woke our bardling. Would you mind?” The War Forged did _not_ mind, apparently, and Ryder watched in fascination how fluidly he moved through the weeping trees, almost gently. It had been one thing in the night, when shadows were deep and the moon made easy tricks of light, but this… in broad daylight… 

It was terrifying. Incredible.

The beast looked upon the retreating back of the metal creature and seethed. He and Yevon had spoken of that too before he slipped off to sleep. It had _known_ what was in that coffin without naming it and it had been desperate to get it out. But now what? The War Forged was a kind and gentle giant, only holding the potential for violence instead of letting himself be defined by it.

Must be nice, Ryder thought as he sipped his tea despondently, not even caring as it burnt his tongue. 

Elysium put his own cup down and closed his eyes, surprising all of them as his voice filtered into all of their heads. _If you don’t mind me getting a head start, I’d like to ask a question._

“I can’t rightly tell you you can’t.” Synthea said with a flicker of amusement. “But I may ask you to wait for the answer.”

 _That’s what it’s about, actually. You say you’re an oracle, and I’m fully aware that the gods have forbidden you from revealing certain information. They_ do _like their consequences._ Ely smirked and opened his dark pit eyes. _But… something like_ this _. Do you know what comes next? What words I’m thinking of? What I’ll say?_

“Ah, yes, the ancient question of _all_ precognitive abilities. What every augur has been posed, every prophet has been demanded of.” She was in another one of her flowy, frothy outfits again, the paint whorled across her brow and under her eyelids near iridescent. “What can we truly see?”

Yevon bit into her apple hard, eyes never once leaving Synthea’s face. “Last night I told you that Hiraeth’s return was possible.” Hiraeth? Right… Ely had whimpered that voice to all of them, probably on accident... “Anyone outside of yourself, Lark, the War Forged, and Leon? Everything’s murky and unclear. I see them slip in and out of our lives like errant needlework. Sometimes the threads loop. Sometimes they get lost in the bigger picture. Sometimes they come up short.” Yevon, Yevon, Yevon. She was his heart thread. Forever tied to him. “I don’t know where they go, I don’t know when they’ll come back. If they will, if they can.” The matron added with a sad look, causing Ely to stiffen in reply.

 _But ourselves…?_ He finally managed, sounding reluctant, as if he wanted to stay on the topic of others. Ryder didn’t blame him. The question burned for him too. 

“I can’t tell what you’re thinking, and that’s where the confusion starts. Because there are different paths that can be taken. Choices that can be had.”

_‘Life is full of choices…’_

_‘Everything can be changed.’_

Ryder went terribly still and cold at the memory, the beast turning it’s head with an awful grin.

“So you’re saying we can control our own destiny?”

All eyes fell to him. He could feel Yevon’s most of all, burning, digging, looking for the truth. She knew him too damn well. “I never promised our victory.” Synthea whispered and while it was clear it was meant to be a comfort, it all but speared through him. “I only said that by our meeting and our trust and belief that we have the power to change the coming days.”

“You really need to work on your pitch.” Yevon spat, looking eager to get up and storm away.

Elysium didn’t look bothered by this revelation. His brow was drawn for another reason, index finger ticking across his left bicep. _We may have all been fated to meet, but past that, anything was possible. The way our lives were shaped, the decisions we made prior… That’s what brought us here together, as we now are._

It’s exactly as he told Yevon, and while there was no sloughing away his newfound anxiety, Ryder was thankful that Ely had also said it. That they had reached Yevon in a way his hadn’t. A stranger’s unknowing somehow more powerful. She settled down somewhat, annoyance finding it’s way to the core of the apple she held and the seeds nestled inside. “I would like to wait to have the rest of this conversation until Lark had arrived. He mentioned his story last night, and it may be that his sight of the future varies from mine. The more we know, what we compare and contrast and use going forward, the easier our victory will come.”

“Fair.” Everyone seemed to say simultaneously before giving their own startled laughs. Everyone but him, that was. Ryder’s head was still caught up in what had been said in what was somehow both moments ago and a full life time. The implication of free will. Whether or not he should speak his part...

But all of that was cut short as the War Forged charged back into the garden, nearly upsetting their entire picnic, face frantic. The slip of parchment Lark had given him last night was thrust into their faces, nearly ripped through the middle and almost too hard to make out.

‘LARK’S MISSING.’ It read in heavy slanted letters.

“Oh fuck.” Synthea said in her high and girlish voice, and to the disbelief of everyone, _that’s_ what got him to laugh.

~

He was having the strangest dream.

At least, Lark _thought_ it was a dream.

For months he had been plagued by his infamous black moon night. The way it seemed to come out from almost seemingly nowhere, bringing the world to a straining hush. This was anything but. He was in a room made out of metal with an incredibly small pianoforte resting under his palms. The keys were slick… silken almost, instead of the familiar pulpy press of cypress he knew and loved. Something _like_ wizard lights seemed to ring around him, sighing and singing as the firewisps did, but there was something inherently different about them. The most incredible thing though was the circular window to his left that looked outward, revealing an endless sea of starlight.

Lark had never seen anything like it before, not even as he peered out upon the Trackless Sea as it held the moon’s light. It was breathtaking. Wonderful...

A knight appeared at the doorway of the metal room soundlessly, cloaked in red and rose gold. They moved their fingers strangely, like a moth’s wings fluttering, but Lark knew exactly what it meant somehow. 

“I know, I know.” He heard himself huff as he stood. “I’m just soothing the pre-mission jitters, Phobs.” He stretched his arms out above his head, bands of black running down the yellow of his strange outfit, his words near nonsense. Who had he become? “Thought maybe the stars could tell us something C-Dubbs wasn’t able to pick up on, is all.”

The knight cocked his head and Lark wondered what was behind that strange angular helmet of his. “Oh, c’mon, don’t give me that look. We have to do this. Can’t trust the Federation to take care of anything in a timely manner. Get it. Timely. Cos we traveled through time-”

He heard the knight snort and watched as they shook their head in obvious disappointment, apparently used to this strange wording of his. “Oh come on, anyone on Earth would have loved that. Oh Doc.” He raised his voice into a ridiculous falsetto. “You’re so clever. Timely, like time travel. Haha! So funny! Are you single? Can I buy you a drink?” 

That made the knight huff and Lark could feel the weight of his glare despite not being able to actually see him. But the speaking version of himself, the self he occupied, was unfazed as he went about fixed his odd bracers, seeming almost pleased with the response. “C’mere, help me with my pauldrons.” He crooked his finger and smiled winningly, knowing the knight would come.

Except when he went to move forward, the dream fell apart, leaving Lark gasping, reeling in it’s wake.

It wasn’t the glass ceiling of the temple that greeted him, but rather a lacy weave of golden-green foliage and floating crystal rings. A thousand voices tittered above him in the branches, all tiny sharp teeth and eyes of diamond pinning him in place. “Atomies.” He muttered distractedly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Tiny fae spritelings that sang in Sylvan and their own buzzing, secret tongue. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“They find you quite pretty, Little Larkling.” Came a low and wending response, surprisingly in the common tongue. He came face to face with a woman with skin like honey and eyes like fire crouched across from him, smiling faintly, with not a speck of clothing to be found on her svelte form. Lark made a loud, flustered sound and averted his eyes quickly but she crept right back into it, her mouth pulling wider at his obvious embarrassment. “It took much to bring you to this place, so they sit and ponder as well.”

“Where’s here?” Lark managed weakly, coming to the slow and terrifying realization that they were no longer in Faerun.

“Senaliesse.” The Fae trilled. Gods, that was impossible. This was home to all Seelie. The Summer Court’s heart. How in the nine hells had he ended up in the Feywilds? Who was this woman before him?

She seemed to read his mind as she spread her palm on the ground before them, autumnal hair glowing. “Welcome, Lark Sung, to my humble home.”

Oh Queen of Light, Titania, mightiest of all the Archfey, whose eyes could light bonfires and whose song could drive even the strongest man to complete madness and misery. Lark felt all the breath rush out of him, a great yawning chasm of disbelief taking place of it. “But worry not, Song Bird, I take no dishonor at your confused state.”

“S-still, my Lady…” Is that how you addressed one as she? “I must apologize for my ignorance.” Had Synthea seen this? The Fae lived in a world parallel to theirs. The rules weren’t the same. “It comes as a surprise to myself that I’ve found myself in your court.” He and Ely and the War Forged had spoken before all falling to a pleasant wash of sleep. Then what? The dream. That was all, at least, of what he could remember. 

And now he was here. And maybe so was Gooby? He _really_ didn’t want to ask where his dog was. 

Titania pressed her lips into a pretty little pout. “No foretold tales of me, sweet Larkling? Nothing traipsing through your pretty mortal head?” She bared her teeth gleefully and gave an animalistic cock of her head in his direction. No crown for this being, Lark realized with a barely suppressed shudder, only the infinite power flowing off of her and primordial knowing her turquoise eyes held. “As to be expected, of course, for reasons that the gods dare not tell. But we are not gods. The Fae are not bound by their commandments. We walk the Wheel, we part the Curtains, we slip through Pools aplenty.” 

She touched his face, sliding her fingers to the center of his forehead. “Do you wish to know the truth, Lark Sung?” Titania chimed sweetly. “Of lost wisdom and ancient unknowing?”

The Fae couldn’t lie. That much he knew. So to pass on this deal… not heed her warning. It wouldn't just be spitting on the namesake of the Seelie. It would be just plain stupid.

He steeled his eyes and stared straight into hers until he was certain he'd be swallowed by the balefire. “Tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay i was :whip: DEPRESSED!


	6. Chapter 6

If Humble were a dead man, he’d be rolling in his grave, but Humble was not dead in the slightest. He was very much alive in a world parallel to this one, missing out on the best adventure ever.

How unfortunate for him, Lark thought impishly as they made their way through the golden haze of the Senaliesse. To not see with his own eyes the way the great mossy stags moved through the peeling birch trees, horns of pearl jutting from their brows, hooves of crystal springing lilies of the valley and creeping phlox underneath. To not commit to memory the way countless iridescent birds sang forth small bursts of rain and sunshine above head in the weaving branches, making each step they took a falling mist of dreams and rainbow. Other Fae were there too, glamored nearly invisible from him, glimmering on the corners of his eyesight. He could hear them whispering too in their aberrant, liquid tongue, trailing after them sneakily as if it were a game almost.

“Gossips, all of them.” Titania murmured airily and all the giggling cut off instantaneously. To hold such command. Such power… A god in her own right. “Most humans come here unawares usually. Already lost in their excitement and ecstasy, perhaps having partaken of our food, our songs, our bodies, the like. But _you_ are my honored guest, Larkling. That is why they gawk and marvel.” She smiled and it was both wicked and lovely, and he swore the sight of it was cause enough for true heart break. “They wonder what is happening. Why I stole you away from your current life.”

So do I, he wanted to huff, but he kept his eager mouth shut for once. Lest he be turned into one of those pretty birds and never find his way back to Faerun. He almost lost it at the idea of fighting some great, evil force as a bird. Mayhaps true love’s kiss could save him from his avian fate after everything, in the form of Ely’s mouth on his. “You have very funny thoughts, Lark Sung.” Titania commented in a sly little voice, causing his feet to tangle over one another as he tried his best not to choke.

“You can hear them?” He gulped out loud, coming to the awful realization that she had heard every traitorous thought he had had of her naked form. Fuck _all_ to the nine hells and back again, he just couldn’t win. 

She threw her head back and laughed and laughed. “This is my realm. I can hear everything and everybody.” A chittering atomie grinned at him from the wildfire of Titania’s locks as she straightened, catching him off guard. “I can hear the wind and trees, Song Bird, the stars and sky itself.”

_(starsandtreesandwindandsky)_

Lark came up short and felt every body traipsing behind him freeze as well, like quiet predators lying in wait, eager and ready. The trees seemed to bend inwards too, and every bird stilled their song, until the world was narrowed down to her and him. Did any of them hear the way his heart thundered? The way his sweat slipped down his back? Titania did. Her face said it all. “Like the firewisps.” He managed breathlessly, truly not knowing what to make of it.

Again, something so inconsequential equaling out into something more meaningful than he cared to admit. Fate making itself known once more when he least expected it. Titania gazed over her golden shoulder and made a cooing sound, almost pitying. “ _Now_ you’re getting it.”

He knew the Fae to be fickle and impetuous, but he was at the end of his wits. “Getting what, your majesty?” Lark snapped, reckless and frantic, all common sense seemingly left back in Faerun.

She was unbothered, apparently, cocking her head soundlessly forward and forcing him to follow her. Lark did, not caring that she could sense his growing animosity, his quiet fear and anger. “You know of me, but you do not, because your understanding is limited to one singular existence. Do you know how many gods truly live and breathe upon the Wheel? How many serve me? Go against me, Lark Sung?” 

Great, ancient rocks were beginning to rise up around them and Lark could feel his anxiety fading quickly, replaced by wide eyes and wonder. It was physically impossible not to be struck speechless by the sight of the great round pool spreading before them, surrounded on both sides by fierce eyed green knights and willowy treants. And gods, the throne. _Her_ throne, he had to quickly amend his traitorous thoughts. Somehow carved of the darkest ice imaginable and in the shape of a slumbering dragon, akin to the great and mighty Bahamut. It was the complete opposite to what Titania seemed to represent and stand for, but the moment she took to it, Lark couldn’t help but realize it suited her.

It came as a small relief when she glamoured a series of silks upon herself, and he knew he was being painfully obvious when he caught her cerulean eyes and found amusement dancing there. “Are you a virgin, Larkling?” She drawled sonorously. “You seem so... innocent.”

“That is _not_ what I came here to talk about.” Lark flushed, knowing she already knew the answer, not wanting to give it to the rest of her bastard court. “You were talking about god things… l-lost wisdom and ancient unknowing...”

“Ah, yes. That boring stuff.” She wriggled her fingers with a gusty, sighing sound. Lark tried not to issue his own sigh, but even then the Fae still sensed it. “You must realize, I’m immortal _and_ eternal, Song Bird. All of that is my every day and you are not! You’re anything but! It’s not common for us to have something like you in our midsts.”

Lark balled his fists at his side, jaw jutting out defensively, hating that he was on display for everyone. What he’d do to have any of his instruments now just as a familiar comfort. “But I’m… I’m only human…” He told her. “A prophet, maybe, but I don’t really even know that.”

All of the Court snickered at that and Lark found them spying upon them from behind the pillars of stone, no longer clever in their hiding, their glamors shed off and down. They were wretchedly beautiful. Painfully strange and bright. It made sense why they didn’t truly walk among the planes of Toril anymore. Why they stayed hidden behind their Veils except for the sprites and pixies. Titania clucked her tongue and his gaze found it’s way to hers once more, meeting it straight forward and head on. You can do this, he reassured himself, bugger all, you can handle anything.

“First and foremost, my sweet Lark Sung, you are half Fae, half Human.” How were her words both close and distant? He could feel the world tilting slowly, his feet slipping out from under him as all the Fae were _laughing_. “Specifically Leanan Sidhe. Born of art and tragedy.”

Lark fell back onto his ass and tried not to throw up all over himself. Seelie? Him? What did that mean? What was she saying? “Except… not really…” The Queen tilted her head. “Not the way you’d think.”

“Fuck off with the Fae riddles already Titania. Spit it out.”

Lark didn’t care for the consequences. Didn’t care that every knight tipped their spear in his direction at the verbal retaliation and every Fae showed their pointed teeth and awful maws. The words themselves seemed to echo over and over through the great space until they landed upon the surface of the pool, causing faint ripples to spread as the meaning settled over them. “Just… just rutting _say it_ . Whatever it is. Whatever I am. Why I’m having these visions. What I’m doing here!” Lark cried as he clawed at the ground below him, digging up dirt and moss and other crawling, living things. So _what_ if Titania got angry. So _what_ if he upset the Seelie Court. The very people of half his heart? He was beyond caring anymore. Beyond all of this. “Or so help me, just send me back to my friends immediately, because I have an Illithid to send back to it’s wretched timeline.” That’s where he belonged, truly. This life wasn’t his to claim anymore.

Titania looked unimpressed, like a mother gazing upon her toddler’s latest tantrum. Are you done, the subtle cock of her eyebrow seemed to say, before she peered down her nose at him. “I know you do, Song Bird, but first let me tell you a story.” She waved her hand and suddenly there were hands on _every_ part of Lark, muffling his terrified shrieks as they pushed him towards the pool. “Of a reckless Star Singer and his band of fools.”

*

“I don’t know about this.”

C-Dubb’s hologram flickered in and out as she bit and chewed at her nails distractedly. She had picked up a stupid amount of bad habits from them ever since Sung had undid her original “pleasure only” programming; reflections of their own behaviors, second hand mannerisms and ways of speaking. Still. Sung made a swatting motion at her, causing her to put and jump. “I’m telling you, the read outs are too vague…”

_Sung, are you even listening?_

Sung refused to look at Havve, facing forward instead, hands on hips and posed for victory. “When are they _not_ vague? When have we _not_ jumped headfirst into complete and utter mystery?”

Meouch grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “And what happens every time we do that?” The Leoian pointed a threatening claw at his visor. “We get caught up in some crazy fucking shenanigans cos you couldn’t calm the hell down.”

“I _tried_ telling him.” Phobos had his helmet half pushed back, the crooked smile he was throwing Sung’s way the only thing about him that was visible. “But he never listens.”

“Wow, you’re a really good boyfriend, Phobos.” He monotoned, hoping it translated to ‘you’re sleeping on the couch’ simultaneously.

 _He_ is _being a good boyfriend because he’s trying to get you to use your brain for once._ Great. Now Havve was getting up in his business, his red optics searing into him, their link drawing taut. _We’re jumping into blackhole backwash-_

“Cosmic winds.” C-Dubb’s corrected him primly. “Primarily composed of photons ejected from-”

“Gods, fuck the jargon, Hogan said it right the first time around.” Meouch sneered, then frowned apologetically when the hologram seemed to flinch back, wavering without a sound. “‘M sorry Cee, everyone’s just nervous. I still don’t think this is a good idea.” He added the last part with a sharp look in Sung’s direction, clearly trying to get his point across.

But Sung wasn’t biting, gritting his teeth instead and trying not to sigh out loud. It probably wasn’t, but the fact of the matter was that these supposed “cosmic winds” were the after effect of some primordial black hole that had gone and finally evaporated, reaching so far they were starting to fuck up other parts of the solar system. And like he had told Phobos before, the Federation wasn’t going to do anything about it any time soon, so it was up to the Groove Crusaders once again. Like always… “I’m just worried about what’s on the other side. Residual gravitational singularities and all.” She told them quietly, eyes scanning down her countless documents. 

Meouch grumbled, ears flattening. “Yer hitting us with the moon speak again, Cee.”

“That’s racist, Meouch.” Phobos piped up before pulling his helmet down with an awful little smile, causing the other man to bristle disbelievingly.

“WHAT?!”

Sung stifled a snort. They were getting off topic, and for once he wasn’t the cause of it. “Listen, we get in, we get out. Nothing’s saying we have to stay there-”

 _Implying we’ll be able to get out in the first place, Sung._ Havve sighed irritably across their link, rubbing his face plate. He was always a pessimist though. The cup half empty to his cup half full mentality. _Don’t come crying to me when everything goes to hell._

He rolled his eye and shrugged simply, stepping towards their transporter and landing a quick kiss against Phobos’s helmet before facing them. “Please. This is going to be easy.”

Famous last words, apparently.

*

“Don’t you see now?” He was, _gods_ , he was heaving up pond water as he came back to, barely able to keep himself conscious or upright. “You came from another world, Song Bird. The presence lingering within that collapsed star you were inspecting dragged you here as soon as it saw your little vigilante team. _That’s_ why you can’t remember your past. What your childhood was.” Titania dropped to the ground before him, all fluttering silk and stunning revelation, her face surprisingly sympathetic despite her harsh words. “Because they are not for you. They belong to a sleeping world and to a boy named Lark Sung.”

Lost wisdom and ancient unknowing. Something had taken his memories, apparently. “Everyone else-” Despite the revelation, Sung couldn’t remember the rest or really much of anything. He only could remember his ‘Lark’ memories. “They’ve… they’ve forgotten too…”

Titania slipped her feet into the water, never once looking away from him. “Your friend Havve held on the longest, if you’re curious, despite everything that tried to take them from him.”

Sung moaned and pressed his face against the mossy carpet. This was insane. Impossible. And yet there was no denying the endless coincidences he had been dealt. The way he was drawn to Ely, no, Phobos... the way the War Forged… Havve… had been freed from his tomb by his very hand. He even had thought of his name, he remembered, faint and distant, before the world told him not to. “This is just another version of you though. Mundus Muli and this version of Faerun and Toril made for him. But despite this not being your true existence, you do have a purpose here, Song Bird. Don’t think this is for naught, to simply torture you.”

“The Black Moon Night.” He barely managed, voice hoarse and spirit broken, causing Titania to nod solemnly.

“When you leave here, when your mission comes to a close, Lark Sung will still be here. As will Elysium, Ryder, Synthea, the War Forged. Their companions too, Humble, Hiraeth... Their true selves will finally be reawakened and their lives will restart. And you? You will return back home. If…” She raised a finger. “You can free yourself from it’s hold and defeat it.”

The Illithid. He let himself lay against the cool forest floor, listening to his heart beat wildly. “This Sung… Lark… I didn’t… I didn’t change anything for him, did I?” I didn’t fuck anything up, he meant truly, knowing she could hear it without him having to speak it. He couldn’t bear the thought of somehow changing some irreversible part of his destiny. Sung thought back to the fight he and Humble had had (...Bombus, the name clanged through his being, that’s actually Bombus…) What the other man had said to him.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed, Sung.” 

The Queen of the Seelie and Light stood now in the center of the pond as if it were made of ice and glass, a diamond tipped scepter pointed his way, her face calm yet unreadable. “There are still secrets to unfold. A fine and incredible tale to be told.” Titania raised it with both hands and smiled wildly, making her look terribly eager and young. “Take faith, take courage, take love, take heart.” She sang in a voice both soft and resonant, the creatures of Senaliesse raising their voices alongside her until the entire forest seemed to thrum. “And take a deep breath lastly, Lark Sung, for this is where we part.”

Between a breath and a blink she became light incarnate, a glorious fiery pillar that could only be described as the epitome of all of High Sun. All the Fae sighed with it as he lost the very breath she told him to hold close. Until he was blinded. Until the world went dark.

~

Elysium was losing it.

There was apparently nothing to be done about Lark’s disappearance. That’s what he had been told several times now by Yevon _and_ Ryder _and_ Synthea _and_ the War Forged. They simply had to wait for his return. When that happened. If it did.

Gooby, however, had not told him that, the Aasimar reasoned as he stared wildly at the dog who was currently sitting prostrate on the floor of Synthea’s chambers. _Do you want to find Lark with me?_ He nearly begged the poor bastard, not even certain that the canine could make sense of what was truly happening. When he cocked his head curiously Ely took that as a sign, hurrying over to the bed they had shared only the night before to procure Lark’s strange instrument. _See! Lark!_ He gave a desperate smile, an even more desperate shake. Possibly looking quite deranged. _You know what I mean, right?_

The dog trotted over, giving Gurdy a plaintive sniff only to hang his head low and give a doleful whine. He knew then. Had an inkling of what was happening at least. Ely felt hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes at the realization, kneeling upon the ground and wrapping his free arm around the dog. _By the Wheel, I don’t know if you can hear me or understand me, but we’ll find him. I can’t keep waiting around. They can’t stop me._ He managed as he hid his face against the dog’s neckline. _No one will._

To lose Hiraeth first, still closed off to him after all this time, and now Lark consequentially… His heart was tearing itself asunder at it, all logic spilling out. He’d go now. He’d find something, someone, that could trace Lark to wherever he had been spirited off to. The cost didn’t matter, whether it be coin or blood or his gods damned first born-!

Lightning tore across the dark sky and the resulting thunder that followed was so horrendous that the entire temple shook. Gooby yelped at it, anxious and pressing close. A war dog afraid of a mere thunderstorm, he thought with a rueful chuckle, Lark would get a kick out of that.  
 _I know, I know…_ The Aasimar set the instrument down to pet his broad back slowly before giving a tremulous laughing kind of sob. He had said those very words less than a day ago, but it felt like more than a lifetime at this point, a hundred centuries folded upon themselves. He felt the first tears of pain and frustration slip out unbidden, not a true Weeping, the most damning deed a Blood Crier could enact; but rather the Human side of him shuddering softly, crying for the first time since he had been very, very young. _I’m sorry._ To Venia. To Hiraeth. To every Aasimar he had betrayed without their explicit permission. To Lark...

“Sorry for what, Ely?”

Ely’s head snapped up, disbelieving as he drank in the unexpected sight of Lark now standing before him. The Human looked disheveled but otherwise unhurt, except his eyes… There was an aching there that had not existed prior, dampening the gold and violet and drawing the darkness of the pupil out. _Lark._

And like when they had met, he wanted nothing more than to speak the other’s name aloud, but Ely stilled his own voice without Hiraeth’s warning, forcing himself onto his feet as he cleaned his face off. Gooby, on the completely opposite side of the spectrum, was absolutely ecstatic. He danced in place before Lark before nearly knocking him over and onto the ground. _You… you’re back…_ Was it him, truly? Not some doppelganger? A changeling? Even the Illithid? 

“I am. I uh...have a lot to tell everyone.” There was pollen in his hair somehow, the yellow of it glimmering among his dark curls like citrine and topaz jewels. “They’re probably on their way here already.” His voice was whisper soft and drawn out. “What with Cee- Synthea. Y’know. Oracle stuff.”

What had changed? Where had he gone? He even _sounded_ different. Looked like a ghost of himself. _Are you not ready to tell them?_ Ely asked, meaning ‘do you not want to be here?’ rather but unable to say it. Lark’s eyes met his then, adam’s apple bobbing, lower lip trembling wordlessly. Gone was the bright, musing man that had spoken so bravely to him as their hands overlapped with the War Forged’s. 

“Yes.” He breathed, making it impossibly easy to take Lark’s hand into his to drag him far, far away from here. Elysium did not know who would follow. If they would be cursed out and damned over making such a stupid decision after all of this. There was a chance too that maybe this wouldn’t actually matter. That they’d be allowed this one moment of comfort before everything went back to shit. He took a different path this time, away from the center of the city, to the ocean this time around.

No one was there to watch, to wonder, to ask stupid questions after them. They were all tucked away from the rain, exercising much better judgement than they apparently had rattling through their brains. But even as they were soaked head to toe Ely knew none of that mattered so long as their hands stayed close. Neither of them spoke the entire way either, the sound of their footsteps and growling thunder the only thing making the world seem real until the crash of the waves was finally audible. Gooby looked peered at him and Lark as if to say ‘don’t do anything stupid’ before chasing after the waves. Everything was gray except for them. The surf, the sand, the sky itself. _I never got to thank you for last night._ He finally said not knowing where else to start.

“Ely…” It wasn’t that he looked uncomfortable by the wording, moreso thrown off balance. So Ely pressed forward. He’d be the brave one this time around. The eager one. The one who made the pain more tolerable.

_I mean it, Lark. I would have up and left the temple if it wasn’t for you and the War Forged._ They had both caught hold of him and held him until the restless need beating around his heart like a bird in a cage finally settled down. _There’s so much I want to tell you but I keep not knowing where to start._ About himself, his feelings, what a Blood Crier actually was. It kept blurring the more he kept trying to think on it, like the waves pushing and pulling themselves back and forwards. _Maybe with something stupid._ He laughed, only a little nervously.

Lark’s mouth quirked despite his best efforts before he lowered his gaze. “I highly doubt it’s stupid, Elysium.” He told him.

 _Then call it something silly. Not of consequence._ The Aasimar squeezed Lark’s hand even tighter, hoping he wasn’t coming off as desperate, and forged on. _I think after all of this is said and done with that you should become a joydancer._

The Human blinked, then bit back a splutter. “You’re telling me... to become a priest?”

 _No, I mean yes, I mean…_ By the Wheel this _was not_ his forte. He was more accustomed to quick little jabs and needling others instead of paying compliments. Elysium furrowed his brow with a frustrated noise before mentally taking a step back. Reapproach it. Try once more. _When I think of joydancers, I think of the festivals they host. So a festival guide then if you’re so set on fornicating during the revelry._ The Lark he had come to care for was starting to emerge at his slow wording. Lips curling under his stupid mustache, eyes glimmering with a hint of mischief. It made him feel brave and want to keep talking. _Really I say that because_ _they’re always smiling. Always helping others. Always exuding happiness. And that’s what I see when I look at you, Lark Sung. Joy and freedom. All of that._ There were no children of Lliiara among the Aasimar, her soul fitted to Milil’s completely, but if there were… would they be like him? Star bright and obliging, loving without consequence? 

Lark stared at him and he felt that brave front slip, his cheeks flooding hot in the sprawling silence _...Told you it was stupid…_ Ely tried to joke, failing miserably, far too embarrassed. He still didn’t quite get why he felt this way when they were still such strangers. There was something so familiar about the other man though, so comforting. _I thought it’d make you happy, that’s why I wanted to tell you that._

“It did. You do.” Lark cut him off as he rapidly blinked rain water out of his eyes. They were both going to get sick if they simply kept standing here, even if it was the middle of Flamerule. Imagine fighting the Illithid with a fever, you idiot, he wanted to joke. But they were frozen in the middle of the downpour. Caught in a moment both fragile and rough. “So much happened, Ely. I woke up and-”

Something _growled._

It wasn’t the thunder. Wasn’t the dog. Wasn’t like _anything_ Elysium had ever experienced before, coming for his soul with a greedy clutching need. Wrong, something inside him whispered as Lark turned his head away, and Ely could have sworn it was Hiraeth. Wrong, it hissed again as Lark shuddered, gagged, heaved, suddenly and violent. Wrong! It screamed, as he forced himself to witness what had caused Lark to react so viscerally, to see what was truly happening.  
 _By the Wheel…_ The water had turned to rotting, a hundred thousand dead things suddenly belly up on the surface and floating around. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong!_ The warning clanged like a bell inside his head, demanding he turn around and run before he ended up like them. But Lark was there, and he was screaming, and he could literally feel the possibility of surviving whatever was coming slipping away. 

There was a shadow rising in the water and fuck and rut, the _dog_ was going after it, of course. Gooby had his hackles raised as he loosed a howl meant for war, ever fearless, ever stupid, just like the man who owned him. “Gooby!!!” Lark tried to rip loose with a desperate howl of his own, but Elysium didn’t dare let him go, not now. “No!!!”  
Now came two choices, the Aasimar realized, the moment almost seeming to slow itself down, fight whatever was coming or watch it gobble up the dog. If Hiraeth were here, they’d already be long gone. You can always get another, they’d murmur after it was all over, better safe than sorry, Elysium. But the man before him was Lark Sung, and he was so painfully human, shoving at Ely furiously, screaming in his face to let him go, to _do_ something now.

So, he did something, just as he asked for.

 _Apologies in advance._ Ely whispered to the Human before cutting him.

The blade skimmed across Lark’s bicep all too easily, slicing through his awful puffy sleeve work and into his skin quick and sharplike. Distantly, he heard Lark whimpering, and he caught sight of the other man’s eyes going large and wide and terrified. Hadn’t Lark told Ely he had a fear of blood...? Oh well, oh well. Focus on the fresh spill of it instead, as every teacher and even Venia had taught him long ago, it’s heavy, coppery smell. This was nothing like gods blood, not as wielding and light, but it was truly Lark’s alone with no desire to return to it’s origins, belonging only to him. Elysium Called it to him with a flick of his wrist and it _sang_ . That was the Seelie in him, he figured, all honeyed and eager and brimming with bright curiosity. _Who are you?_ It hummed amicably, as if being summoned and given a conscience was part of it’s every day. What _are you? Is this blood magic? Are you a god or something?_

 _Close._ Ely smiled as it flowed despite the circumstances, letting Lark fall away from him and onto the wet sand. _My name’s Elysium. Will you help me?_

It laughed just like Lark did, loud and without apology, ever optimistic. _As if you’d let me say no, Elysium. Let us go._

The Aasimar let Lark’s blood shape itself as it saw fit as he leapt towards the water, readying himself for anything. Whatever it was was massive, colossal really, revealing an almost equine face as it rose to meet him through the graveyard of it’s own making. It had eyes like sulfur, skin like midnight, and a great curved neck and body like a war ship. It shook it’s beard out as he approached. No, not beard, Elysium realized, revulsion taking hold and forcing him to bring the bloody weapon down before connecting. Tentacles. Those were _tentacles_ spilling forth from it’s gaping maw. This was no simple beast, no Aboleth or other watery monstrosity, but rather a true eldritch horror that had breached the hold of the cursed Underdark, coming forth to kill them.

 _Godson_ It was not one voice that wormed into his head, but many, in every possible tongue imaginable as they all overlapped. _You dare challenge me? The Great Wyrm of the Underdark? The Bane of Bahamut? The Illithid’s First Steed?_

No, he wanted to beg, but he was incapable of moving, of speaking, of looking away, only able to stare uselessly, terror fueled fascination holding him in place. But the weapon in his hands thought differently, already reimagining its shape. _Imagine!_ _Slaying a dragon! It’d make for quite a story, Elysium._ It told him as it knit itself into a fine axe, impossibly sharp and heavy in the grip of his palm. _Shall we?_

Oh, Lark… how unfortunate that this is how it ended. With not even a chance to say goodbye or good luck. Still, Elysium had this moment to truly make something of himself, and in a way, Lark was there almost. A piece of him now bound to him. He spun the axe deftly and assumed a battle ready pose, mouth pulling crookedly as the Great Wyrm stared damningly down. _As if you’d let me say no._ He chuckled before charging forward towards his inevitable ending. _  
_

~

“Oh _gods_ no.”

It appeared as though the War Forged was the only one who had heard Synthea speak. Clearly she hadn’t meant for any of them to catch it, her words slipping between Ryder and Yevon’s rapid quarrelling, but he had despite everything. He approached her with a curious tilt of her head, a silent acknowledgement before he started to write his question down. Everyone was nervous. Anxious and on edge. Lark’s return had nearly bowled Synthea over at it’s occurrence and now he and Elysium had made off without telling them… 

Even he felt the thrum of something tense running through him. Fear, he came to understand as he compared it to the way everyone was reacting. Fear of the unknown, of losing someone he loved. How very, very strange and unfamiliar to him but not truly. It was quite the mystery. ‘What did you see?’ He wrote, somehow calmly.  
She swallowed. The poor thing still hadn’t fully recovered from whatever had happened beforehand, her skin still ashen and eyes filled with blood red spiderwebs. “Everything’s overlapping.” Synthea’s response breathless, trunk pressed up against her forehead. “When Lark came back everything I had seen was suddenly _different_. Every thread pulled opposite.” Ryder and Yevon had suspected as much and that’s why they were over there yelling, not even trying for subtlety. They had the buyer to think of, their crew’s safety. “But I thought… I thought I saw something…”

What? He wanted to grip her by the arms and shake her, but the War Forged managed to keep his hands to himself. Be rational. Thinking this way would get him killed on the battlefield. ‘I’ll go wherever you tell me, even if it ends up being a dead end, it’s better than nothing.’

“But there’s… there’s no way it should be possible.” She whimpered tearfully.

“Just what in the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Seemed as though Ryder’s advanced hearing had finally up on what was happening. The Shifter stalked forward, every inch of him posed for violence and misery. “Guess what, none of this is fucking possible Synthea, but you lost track of Lark for a whole hour and we’ve got a thing that doesn’t even exist yet coming to kill us. So let’s start talking. I’m getting tired of standing around.”

He looked downright feral, causing the War Forged to subtly shift into a defensive position, surprising him only slightly when he saw Yevon assume it as well. “I see two men at the beach but it’s not them, even though I’m only looking for them.” Tears began to leak out of her eyes at her insistence and she didn’t even bother to wipe at them. “A great red tide blooms outwards as something begins to rise. I try and look your way, and no matter where you go, there’s only shadows and darkness.” She told the couple, who grimaced almost simultaneously.

‘What about me?’ The War Forged was running out of parchment, and the runaway thought momentarily caught him off guard. What a strange problem to have, to be rendered speechless until they got around to repurposing him. ‘Look at me Synthea, and tell me what you see.’ 

She bowed her head and curled her massive ears inwards. “I see blood, War Forged, spilling endlessly. Enough to blot out the sun, the moon, everything.”

“Then I think it’s obvious what we have to do.” Yevon began as she tied her thick hair back from her face, brushing off her earlier uncertainty with a show of overconfidence. It would be an honor to fight alongside her if the opportunity arose, her body and mind made eager for blood. “Go to the beach and see these strange men. Even if it’s symbolic, it’s better than nothing. And if you don’t, I will. I’m not a part of the important things, remember?” She said flippantly. If Ryder’s threat was physical, hers was verbal- her words meant to skewer them. “We’re way past our projected hour no one’s come looking our way. If you’re so worried, head back, but I’m not.”

“Yev.” The furious gleam in Ryder’s eyes flashed away but she simply tipped her head and ignored him. Trouble in paradise, he was sure Lark would say if he were here with them, alleviating the tension with a hearty laugh. But it was the four of them now walking on the edge of a knife, lost and confused, everything a struggle. “C’mon…”

The Half Orc bared her teeth and spat. “Spare me, Leon. You’re _scared_. Go back, then, and ignore all this if you want.” She didn’t wait for a response, turning to the War Forged instead with a violent cock of her head towards the temple’s entrance. “Let’s go, War Forged, and save our little friends.”

Now he could see Ely too when he wasn’t really there, eyebrows raised high, expression mockingly scandalized. Oh, she’s _using_ you. He’d chuckle delightedly. To light a fire under Ryder’s arse. Watch, he’ll get all puffed now, agree to come along, just like she knew he would.

Ryder pawed at his face helplessly before he groaned into his palms. “Only _you_ could make taking care of our crew sound like a bad thing, woman.” Oh, he was most definitely pissed off, which could either be very good or very bad. He still wasn’t sure how to gauge that. “Shadows, the oracle says. Darkness! It can’t ever be sunshine and pups, can it?” 

“I… I will also come with.” Synthea managed in a small voice. “I may not be able to do much in my current state, but perhaps the closer we get, the clearer it will become.” 

“Good, if that’s the case-” Yevon began to grin, only for the screaming to start.

The Loxodon screamed the second it began and he, Ryder, and Yevon could only watch disjointedly as the acolytes of the Matron flew to her from the temple’s sidelines. This was even worse than before, which had been a simple sighing “oh” before she fell to the ground. This was guttural and wrenching, tearing through the temple with it’s frantic grieving and agony. “It rides!” She sobbed, blackened ichor spilling from her closed eyelids, like liquid night. “The corrupted dragon of yore rises up from the waves, subduing all of us before the Illithid comes forth.”

The War Forged didn’t hear the rest of it, because he was already running towards the source.

Had he ever fought a dragon before? He didn’t know. He didn’t rightly care. It didn’t matter really because he would most definitely kill this one. Even if Lark and Ely and Gooby weren’t at the waterfront, this thing was still a threat to everyone. It had to be put down. And the fact that he was without weapons, so what? His _body_ was a weapon, made to rip and tear and sunder literal gods apart. He didn’t need to breathe as he ran forward, to blink, to adhere to the physical limits of his metal form. Nothing else mattered but getting there.

He’d break the very Wheel itself apart if it meant protecting this new, fledgling world.

When the War Forged arrived the rest of the world took it’s time catching up to him. The rain, the villager’s screaming, the smell of death and dread hanging midair. Gooby came barreling at him from out of nowhere, baying nervously as his eyes rolled around. He grimaced but gently pushed the dog off, there’d be no calming him. Where was Lark? Elysium? He found the Human next as he scanned the beach, laying out on the sands. There was blood on his left sleeve but otherwise he appeared fine and most importantly, only unconscious and not dead. That left Elysium. Where, where, where?

The water heaved up all of a sudden and threw the Aasimar into the air. He spun with the action, whip quick and unaffected, a true bred warrior as he pulled his lips back soundlessly and slammed his singing axe down. The dragon wove back before his blow could land though, toying with him as a cat would a mouse before eating it alive. Rage was such a strange thing to witness when you were sane and mindful. It could make you so powerful, and yet it’d welcome so many mistakes into your structuring. Had he truly fought so mindlessly? So damningly as he staked his life?

He only waited until Elysium had danced away once more, knee deep in the blighted froth and breathing hard. Now, before the dragon could drag him back down. The Warforged launched forward and slammed his leg into it’s throat.

 _YOU!_ It seethed as it realized what was happening, screaming at him in such a blind fury that he almost fell. But years worth of fighting for his life kicked in, adrenaline pumping through his ancient veins as he forced his hand up to grip at the dragon’s wriggling tentacles to wrest off a fistful of them. Me, he grinned back solemnly as it loosed an earth shattering scream. A god’s worst nightmare, every story’s ending.

The War Forged flipped to deftly study the rest of it. It’s wings were next to nothing and it’s talons were currently submerged. Good, he thought as he dug his fingers into it’s scales and ripped in. It screamed again and tried to catch him, but Elysium jumped then instead. _Am I glad to see you._ He gave a broken little laugh as he came close. _I thought I was to die here, but now that you’re here, we have a fighting chance._

A tentacle wrapped around the other and wrenched him away and back. _WILLFUL PESTS, YOU ARE NOTHING TO US. WE ARE MORE THAN YOUR GODS. MORE THAN ANY ENTITY. DO YOU TRULY THINK THAT YOU CAN PUSH BACK? THAT YOU CAN CHANGE THE COURSE OF DESTINY?!_

Yes, he thought as he hammered his fist against the beast’s rough carapace, going at it over and over again until his fingers began breaking off. Eons ago, maybe it wouldn’t have been possible, but this was his own choosing now. Such was the way of free will. Before all his life had been was blindly fighting for beings that didn’t even know him. But he cared for these people. He treasured this existence. He wanted to know this world. He saw Elysium reeling back upon the red sands, his weapon now shaped into a javelin. Now, he mouthed, before letting it shoot forward like some kind of brutal meteoroid.

The War Forged ripped back the scale he had been beating at with his broken fingers just in time. None of it should have been possible. His knowing, the way he pulled it away despite his brutalized digits, the javelin’s truestrike and hold… But there was no denying the very sight his eyes were holding, the way the dragon roared and whipped his body down. He felt himself slam against the ocean and it hurt, nearly breaking the rest of him, but even that pain couldn’t stop his grinning as he sank endlessly.

It was funny, if not terribly twisted, going from one coffin to another. He was already a dead thing walking among the living world, and it was bound to happen somehow. The water was all red around him, just like Synthea had predicted. Enough to blot out the sun, the moon, everything.

Everything but Lark, somehow.

The Warforged blinked, staring at the Human through the bloody haze in a fading fit of confusion. Or maybe this had been the man Synthea had been talking about before he had bolted from the temple, Lark but not-Lark, the bard’s double walking self. The twin stranger let out a great gulp of bubbles as he reached out, saying something strange, something he could have sworn was not allowed…

- _Do you remember me?_ -

“Havve!”

A name. 

His name. 

The very one he had forgotten so long ago. 

- _He remembered it_ all-

~

Gods, he wanted to go back to before.

Before they had landed on Mundus Muli, before they had set sail, before he had even become captain of the ship. Back to-

Back to…

-Stars and smoke and belonging to no one but him-

The thing in him raised it’s head and let out a warning hiss. _There is no going back, there’s only the here and now_ . _Besides, everything can be changed, remember_ ? It was somehow speaking in the voice of the thing in the woods. Had it always sounded like that, he tried to figure as he felt himself shiver. Was he finally losing himself? _Don’t you want to change all of this?_

No more hurting, no more running, no more worrying at all. No more second guessing that he had made the wrong decision by listening to someone who didn’t even know him. He didn’t have to be here, none of them did, especially Yevon.

“Ryder.” Came her voice right in from him, but he didn't even see her, already having sunken down. Gods, he wanted nothing more. To tell Savras to shove it and move on. To be his own person. “Ryder, hey! Snap out of it, we need to go.” No they needed to end this. He needed to-

He needed to…

Forget.

“Perfect timing.” It purred through him before flaying his mind into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so like, a lot of people know this was for my big bang, and i had about 90% of it done when my artist just shit the bed and didn't really like... apologize for it. and i knew i was going to publish it, but i've had time to tinker around with it and this chapter and the lst were basically all rewritten and given more context and while the ending is going to be as i planned, there's been a lot more added. So thank you for putting up with the weird upload schedule. It was going to be straight forward but shit happens.


	7. Chapter 7

_“I’ll bet you fifty gold pieces saying I can best you in a game of luck.”_

_Leon had never seen a woman like this before in Albanuadh. Visitors didn’t commonly make their way this far north into the lands of Faerun, right on top of the border of the Frozenfar, the final respite before braving the Spine of the World. This was a place where generations stagnated, roots of family trees twining down into all of Toril for centuries at a time. She didn’t look like someone that was on a pilgrimage either, but maybe she had been on her way to Neverwinter and had gotten off course..._

_Maybe..._

_She was a Half Orc, he realized a beat later; with eyes like the dark that came with the Feast of the Moon, heavy braids and skin like saplings turned to jewels, tusks gleaming from the purse of her mouth, gold and new. “That doesn’t translate into giving you these, by the way.” She tapped an index finger against one and he laughed sheepishly, showing his hands in an easy defense, assuming he hadn’t really offended her- yet._

_“Forgive me. It_ is _mostly humans and dwarves up in these parts.” Among other things, he nearly added as the beast inside him turned it’s head lazily, giving a slow blink and a satisfied purring sound. It was one of the main reasons he was here himself. It relished in the large game that paced through the woods. It enjoyed moving among them quietly, besting any predator that existed along the ice and snow._

(When had he started to fear it so?)

 _“I’ve noticed.” She took the seat across from him. The tavern was partially full of individuals done up in great masses of furs just like them, all huddled against the cold that cruelly beckoned from beyond the door. “Makes a girl feel all kinds of special when all eyes are on her.” She gave a pointed roll of her eyes but smiled faintly, as if it amused her rather than aggravated her. “Speaking of, I’ve been watching_ you _all night.”_

_Leon’s brows jumped up, and he found himself caught between the feeling of being pleased and put-off. “Seems hypocritical.” He noted in a pointedly neutral tone._

_“Never claimed I was a saint, handsome.” Her smile grew into something terrible and devious and he knew he was in trouble. He liked her, the beast liked her, this had never happened before._

(It hadn’t always been his enemy had it?)

_“C’mon. Entertainment is few and far between in these desolate wastes you call a ‘province.’” She tossed a bag of coins onto the table easily, booted feet following suit as she leaned back and made herself comfortable. “What say you? A new game? Tyche’s Draw? See if Tymora or Beshaba favors you tonight?”_

_Now that gave him pause. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard someone going around invoking the old gods. “Frankly it sounds like you’re just looking for an excuse not to play knucklebones.” Leon said into his cup before glancing up. “If it’s a matter of you thinking I’m cheating-”_

_The Half Orc snorted unapologetically as she cut him off. “No, no. It’s not that. I just don’t like leaving everything up to Savras unlike_ some _people. I like taking fate into my own hands.” She waggled her ringed fingers in his direction as if casting a spell. “I’ve got cards if you’re in need of them too, which I openly invite you to check, so as to cast aside all assumptions of fraudulent behavior, love.” She winked saucily and Leon felt himself fall a little more in love._

_Yes, he was a simple man with simple needs and she was an impossible spitfire in the middle of a wasteland, but the draw he felt was more than intellect and wanting to bring her to bed. There was something inexplicable about her. Otherworldly and pulling him right in. “...May I ask you a question?” Leon asked after a moment of pause, remembering his manners and more importantly, remembering himself._

_“Why yes, you can buy me a drink.” She hummed as she laid out the cards._

_He ducked his head as the beast rumbled it’s amusement. “No, I mean yes, I mean-” He raised his hand, signaled the man behind the bar, sealed his lips against the chuckle that threatened to burst out of his mouth. “Before we start our game, I’d like to ask you your name.”_

_She shuffled the cards, expression becoming quiet, her body withdrawn. Not just bawdy and charming, then, this too. “Where I come from originally? They call me No One. But I thought that was a little_ too _depressing.” She glanced up, mouth hitched sardonically to the side, eyes lingered elsewhere. She looked so different then. A devastated cast off trying to find her place in the world. “So you can call me Yevon, my handsome friend. Yevon Lis-Zutar.” A card slipped out of her shuffling and slid across the table to him, face down. He went to grab it for her-_

(He felt like he was forgetting something. Something important.)

 _He turned it._ _  
_

(Something? Nothing? Memories made from and into lack.) _  
_

 _He saw darkness._ _  
_

(He was forgetting this moment.) _  
_

_He saw black._

~

The dragon wasn’t dead.

Too much had happened in the span of no time and his mind was finally catching up to him. The strike of the javelin. The violent hurling of the War Forged. Lark, now conscious, somehow and diving after him. The sky tearing itself apart…

_Can’t do anything without me, can you?_

It couldn’t be.

Hiraeth.

_How?_

Elysium whipped himself around and they were there, yet another impossibility in this impossible world. They had their hands raised high above them as a radiant opulence sloughed off of them- eyes wide and teeth bared. _Of Ghael. Of Eladrin. Of tearing winds and screaming skies. Of Glory and Hunting_ \- The words rang through Elysium like a distant bell, except this time it was not Kaerl’s voice reciting them, but his best friend’s.

 _Hiraeth!_ He screamed their name in a voice that was a hundred things at once. The wind became a physical thing then despite his agonized warning as they brought their hands down, a shrieking blade of air and thunder, damning and unrepentant. And by the Wheel it was as if Talos himself had manifested upon the shores of Mundus Muli in that very moment, come to slay the aberration despite himself being aligned to chaos and malevolence.

It roared as the squalling sword cut into it’s blood red hide, Hiraeth’s power nearly rending it into oblivion but still not quite enough. It was awful. It was incredible.

It was going to _kill_ them if they kept it up.

 _Stop!_ Elysium rasped as he charged at them. This was _more_ than magic. _More_ than Letting. This was something completely else, sacrificial and borne of finality. Something that would spell the end of their existence if he didn’t end it. _Hiraeth, that’s enough! Please!_ He begged just as he had the night before, but it was different now, everything was _different._

Hiraeth spared Elysium a look with their sorrowful, glowing eyes; their awful, willful wind continuing to whip around them like an air elemental hell bent on destroying everything. _Still don’t want my help?_ They teased in a sad voice as they began to raise their hands again, facing down the dragon that was still stalking forward despite it’s grievous injury. _Not even when death marches towards us?_

 _Not if it means losing you, you idiot!_ Ely all but gasped brokenly.

And just like that 

everything

stopped.

The wind. The dragon’s wrecked bellowing. The baying howls Gooby had been loosing in the distance. 

His breath. 

His heart.

The two Aasimar faced each other in the bubble of momentary respite, Hiraeth’s winds now cocooned around them protectively. Elysium hadn’t wanted their reunion to be in the middle of a battlefield with death loomed over them expectantly. He had wanted it after the defeat of the Illithid, if anything, the world made right again and his life figured out. _It is deathless, by mortal means, you can’t think to so easily end it._ Hiraeth whispered in a trembling voice, threading the words into his mind. _It’s words traveled for_ miles _, Ely. If I don’t kill it, you die. Faerun falls. Toril itself will be lost to whatever it heralds and rides for-_

Ever so slowly the silence was beginning to break, causing Elysium to grasp at the shirt front, desperate to breach the distance he had sowed between them. _Do you truly wish for a Weeping then, Hir?_ He begged, knowing not what else to do, to say, to _give_ as reality demanded their participation. Only the truth, Elysium wanted to sob and laugh simultaneously at the realization, because what had lying brought him except for pure misery and mayhem? _I nearly lost myself when you left last night and now you’re asking me to allow this? A sacrifice of your own making?_ He might have laughed then, or he might have let out a gasping, hiccupy keen. _A self fucking immolation before I even get to say goodbye?_

Hiraeth lips parted as they stared at him, their gazes almost equal. Elysium willed himself to keep going at the pause, to stay strong, to speak the unfathomable truth of what the other’s choice would cause if they went through with it. _Hear me now, more than ever, Hiraeth of the Ghael. Every Aasimar will feel it, that shattering loss that my soul could not endure if you choose to go forward with this. And then? Their agony will become my endmost strength to kill this_ fucking _thing before I wipe every one of them and myself from this plane of existence._

 _That_ is what it meant to Weep. There was no greater weapon in a Blood Crier’s arsenal, nor was there any greater sin that went hand in hand with their legacy. _Don’t… Don’t tell me I’m being dramatic either._ Ely seethed as Hiraeth body jolted against his with horrified comprehension. _Don’t tell me it will be alright. Don’t do this. Don’t give up your whole life when you don't even know what will happen._ He was on his hands and knees begging the other, his thoughts and words tangling over themselves. 

_We fight together. We kill this thing. Become a hero_ with _me. Change destiny._ He tried to channel the same confidence that Lark had had the night before when he had spoken those very words, but it was _useless_ , his throat aching, his spine giving out. _Please, Hiraeth._ His mouth wobbled as he issued the last plea, tempted to speak the words out loud. _Please stay with me. I'm sorry for what I've done._

He felt more than saw the way the other’s lips moved across his forehead, like moths drawn to flight. It felt like absolution. It felt like vindication. It felt right. _...The things you do for love…_ Oh. Had they meant for him to hear that? Had they not? Either way, Hiraeth gave a helpless little shake of their head as they pulled back, hands laying over Elysium’s before squeezing them tight. _If I die in battle you must promise me you will not Weep._ They told him in a wavering voice. _Swear this to me, Elysium._

His relief was so immediate and abundant and _invigorating_ , but all he could do was laugh wetly and let it rush through his veins and lift his soul up. _There will be no need to because we_ will _put an end to this thing._ Hiraeth had not been there to see what they had already wrought, their small victories made of blood and rage and living shadow, their strange and inexplicable luck. _Venia will be pleased, to say the very least, to hear of what we managed here._

 _By the Wheel, Ely, she’s going to throw an outright conniption when she finds out_ . _Why didn’t you send for me, you little bastards? The Portal’d be worth it._ They pitched their voice to match Venia’s inherent sweetness as the roaring came back; along with the baying, the seething, the unearthly dirge of death. And despite all that, Hiraeth went about dusting the sand from his shoulders, his gaze and tone completely nonchalant. _This is going to be a nightmare to brush out, by the way._ They gestured to his hair.

Elysium gave an incredulous sound, but deep down, he was grateful as they were falling back into their usual playful diatribe, like this was any other day instead of their possible last. _Pot calling the kettle black, huh? You ought to see yourself, what with all the wind-_

 _Oh, I’m_ sorry _._ They threw their hands up, ever the dramatic. _I only brought a rutting sword made out of air to this battle, not a mirror and face kit. I know, I have_ such _terrible priorities._ They knifed their mouth into an awful grin. _Have I mentioned I hate you, Elysium?_

 _That’s a lie and you know it._ He was grinning too and also half faced away, feeling invincible. _Give me your hand._

 _You_ just _had it._

 _CEASE YOUR INANE BANTERING, AASIMAR._ The dragon heaved itself further onto the beach where they were standing, it’s tentacles a writhing mess of mad weaving as it tried to magic away it’s injury. Cut it, he told himself in a determined voice as he witnessed it’s slow mending, cut it until there’s nothing to left cut anymore. Until it was a thing of nonexistence and nihility forgotten on the wind. Until it was _dead_ . _I GROW TIRED OF THESE GAMES YOU INSIST ON PLAYING SO THAT YOU MAY THINK YOURSELVES CAPABLE, TO CONVINCE YOURSELF OF POSSIBLE VICTORY AND TRIUMPH. YOU LIVE ON BORROWED TIME! BORROWED BLOOD! YOURS IS LIMITED EXISTENCE! EVEN YOU, GODSON_. 

The Great Wyrm rolled it’s bulbous eyes in his direction as it’s rage grew furthermore. _Don’t listen to it, Elysium..._ He heard Hiraeth hiss as he simply stood there, the wind sword now reshaped to fit into their hands, angled and screaming for bloodshed. _It will do anything to distract you._

A beam of dark energy came tearing down the beach in their direction suddenly, forcing them to leap away from each other and fall back. Balefire, so hot and hellish it had turned the beach to a glossy, savage black. Hiraeth began to swear at it, and Elysium had to wonder if he might have miscalculated, or maybe just let himself get too far ahead.

The dragon had the nerve to look coy at their hesitation. To throw it’s strange, narrow face back and _laugh_ . _Never before has there been one such as you. You have always wondered, yes? Of how every Blood Crier has held a lineage except for you! Of why the War Forged answers you so easily?_ It threw another beam forward with an unhinged violence and the absence it caused _roared_ . _Elysium Blood Crier, first and last of your name, borne to blood and bound to duty, son of no one. That is what they told you, right? That’s what they’d have you believe and live with as your only existence._

 _Shut up!_ He reached forward before ripping his hand back, desperately reaching for Lark’s blood, hoping he could still wield it. It didn’t matter, he told himself, as Hiraeth took to the air, lightning sparking as they swung their sword around. It didn’t matter, he told himself again, as the Human’s essence failed to stir. It didn’t matter, he told himself a third time as he realized the other man and the War Forged still hadn’t come up. It didn’t matter, he told himself one last time. 

_Nothing_ mattered anymore.

He threw Hiraeth a hard gaze, conveying the words ‘distract it’ without actually saying them out loud. That was the power and language of lifelong companions. Of childhood friends. Of what they were. The other Aasimar leapt forward then, a movement both terrible and beautiful in it’s deadliness, dancing between the dragon’s legs and slicing at them with quick little jabs. Each hit was a thunderclap. Every wound a bloody spewing. But they still weren’t winning. It still wasn’t enough to end this monstrosity.

Elysium ran to the water then in the middle of all of it, hoping and praying to any higher power that could hear him upon the Wheel that it wouldn’t burn him or poison him or drag him down. Together with the others there was a power there that could be summoned. They could do this and slay the monster if he found them. They could win-

 _SON OF IYACHTU XVIM!_ The dragon suddenly bellowed. _YOU WILL HEED ME!_

Something tore open in Elysium at it’s wording. Recognition. A sense of ending and beginning. An endless well that kept digging down and down and down. He could hear Hiraeth distantly and desperate, frantically shrieking at him to not listen, but it didn’t matter because Elysium was already shaking, already shattering-

Already losing himself.

He knew that name. All Aasimar did if they were taught well. The only child of the lost god of fear and tyranny, a portfolio of Bane that had stopped existing long, long ago. _That_ was who he was, is what those words meant, _that_ was his impossible lineage. _They would have named you Phobos if not for your mother’s meddling._ The dragon’s voice was almost a gentle coo as it wended it’s way through his head, as if it were trying to comfort him instead of tear his world anew. He could feel waves of death rushing over his lap and chest as it did, blood red and full of decaying rot and death. _An echo of your true destiny, forever hidden from you and locked away, ruined by that_ woman _and those that raised you in fear of your potential and possibility. But now you are nothing. You could have stood among us, Blood Crier._ It curled it’s horrible tentacles back as it mocked him. _This world could have been your prize of war indefinitely._

But that wasn’t all of it, was it? He could feel something else trying to take wing within his soul. A secret somehow far greater than being the son of a forgotten demigod. Something he shouldn’t know. Phobos, the name sang through him in the same vein of his recognition that Lark seemed to inspire. He was something more than Elysium. More than his name and lineage. More than some raging and terrible Godson. 

But that wouldn’t be enough. Not for this and not for what was to come.

So they wanted an untethered raging and terror absolute? Fine then. After all, he had been born to it. Born of violence and bloodshed and winning wars. Still. He gave a small, helpless laugh into the empty hallways of his head as the Great Wyrm sent another beam tearing towards him. It should have never come to this. He knew that now. But the Wheel was already spinning.

He turned his face upwards in a final act of penance, one that still wouldn’t make up for what was to come. “I’m sorry.” He whispered before he let himself fall.

His last words as Elysium. 

His first words as a reborn god.

~

He was somehow two things at once simultaneously.

He was the Scimitar of Souls, the sword of Iyachtu Xvim, the best weapon in his arsenal. 

And he was Havve Hogan also, a container of thoughts and long forgotten memories, pushing everything outward, keeping only the most important things hidden away.  
Memory after memory continued to overlap through his split consciousness, to the point where he was certain he’d black out from all the different, fitful imagery. He saw a world that was nothing like his current reality, his _true_ reality; papers filled with scratches and scribbles of ink gathered at his feet, the shine of stage lights bearing down on him as he found the perfect beat. Knives dripping from his outstretched fingers, the smiles and laughter of his found family. Frost and corrosion and blood crawling up his body, a favored blade scraping against a whetstone, a voice in his head humming sweetly, on and on...

He saw this world too, centuries ago, aeons really, when everything was new and aching and raw. Not just Xvim’s memories, and not even Bane and Bhaal and Myrkul’s, but that which they had been born from and “he” in turn had also been, from the very beginning and first Parthenon- from Jergal, the Lord of the End of Everything, King of the Walking Dead.

The First and Second Sundering, the Time of Troubles, the Spell Plague, the Tear Fall. Jergal had seen every single death those periods would summon, laid out all nice and neat and without any real consequence for someone so far removed as he. And then he had decided if even for a moment, for a mere second in the span of what was to come and what was already happening, to challenge that promised timeline. _That’s_ why he had allowed the Dead Three to approach him. _That’s_ why he let them win. But not even the Final Scribe himself could have predicted what was currently happening when he had peered into his endless well of power back then, because _they_ were never supposed to be part of this, because _they_ weren’t supposed to be here, because they had come from _beyond_ any of his imagined lives and graves.

For they were the stars that danced above the sky and the dreams beyond the waking night. The waves beyond the first swell of the sea and the forgotten promises of possibility. They were the cataclysmic loopholes this universe had never prepared for. They were everything, everything, everything and _more_.

“Havve!”

He came back to himself fully no longer as the War Forged, but as himself, as Havve Hogan in another form. And gods, he wanted nothing more in that reeling moment than for his voice to reach across the link that did not exist in this reality and truly _speak_ to Sung. _I’m here. I’m back._ He wanted to gasp out. Instead he could only grip the other around his waist and kick off the sand lest they die down here below the churning waves. Was he also going through the same thing, Havve wondered quietly as they approached the surface, he had said it, after all. He had said his true name.

None of that mattered though because when they finally broke through, the world was no more than fire and flame and hell.

This version of him knew that blaze. It was the same one that had consumed Xvim a distant Midwinter night long, long ago. The same that had rebirthed Bane into Toril once more, the very last thing “he” had seen before being locked into that infernal coffin for an assumed eternity; the resurrected god of war and tyranny too proud to have others fight in his stead, so furious he hadn’t even considered killing the War Forged. 

An endless waking. 

A deathless sleep. 

Unending agony on constant repeat.

He shoved Sung back under the waves before that inferno of black and green and gold could wipe them out. They clutched to each other and for a moment Havve could swear he felt Sung’s confusion and terror and desperation just as he always had before they had approached that gods damn black hole on their side of things. What else was going through that head of his? Was he thinking of the others? Of how they would survive this? Of how far home was?

They came back up again when there was finally nothing to be found, bobbing uselessly. No Great Wyrm, no Ely, just a glassy black beach and the yawning sky above them. No, not Elysium, Phobos… that was _Phobos_ folded into another person, Havve reminded himself regrettably once more, still lost to them after it all. “Gods.” Sung whimpered as he blinked through the curls plastered to his brow and forehead. “What’s happening, Havve?”

He laid his useless fingers against Sung’s jaw before nodding his head forward towards the beach front, unable to do anything else for the time being and hating that fact; hating even more how his head kept filling with different agonizing possibilities, the lack of Sung’s constant sunshine and babbling across their link becoming more and more apparent. Had they been the cause of all this? Would it have happened if they hadn’t come here? What was the point in wondering, except he couldn’t do anything _else_ , especially now in the aftermath. “Ely!” Sung was yelling as he stumbled across the haunting glass, even his own reflection swallowed up in it’s unearthly darkness. “Gooby! Anybody out there?!”

And of _course_ the damn dog would pop his head out at Sung’s voice, limping on his front right foot but otherwise unscathed and somehow alright. “Thank fuck.” He gulped out as he threw his arms around the poor thing, his own frame shuddering, his spine giving a quiet yet resounding crack. Havve did _not_ need their link to know that Sung was this close to passing out. Too much in too little time, after all, and a body like this could only handle so much traumatic energy. 

He touched the jutting ridge of his spine after giving him a moment, cocking his head towards Mundus Muli as if Sung needed reminding of what had to be done. He needed paper, some way to talk, a verbal-non verbal middle ground. “Right.” Sung swore, mouth pulling into a smiling grimace. “We have to- we have to get back.” 

Back to Meouch and CW and… Yevon…

Whoever the hell that was.

Havve peered down at the panting dog again as Sung straightened himself out. Gooby wasn’t a part of their true lives either, so where had he come from, and where had Yevon? So far everyone significant they had met had been some kind of mirroring parallel. Hiraeth was Phobos’s long lost friend Deimos, Humble was that bastard Bombustron… but Havve couldn’t place the dog and the woman no matter how much he wracked his brain for an answer from their innumerable adventures together through all of space-time.

More mysteries. More confusion. More things to start unraveling.

He just wanted to be _done_.

The city itself was understandably but painfully quiet as they slumped their way across the cobblestone streets. There had been so much screaming before and now there was _nothing_ but the quiet, tepid air hanging around them and a lingering tang of fear. “You’re good, right?” Sung peered back at him, his sparking lilac eyes so strange and unfamiliar. “I haven’t seen you beat up like that since...” 

He trailed off and pressed his lips together tightly, as if he were forbidden from speaking it, but Havve knew exactly what he meant. Since Lacrimosa, brimming with corrupt Caoineagae, more stilt and scythe than actual alien. He had been the only one capable of taking them head on in the group and even then they had thoroughly shredded him beyond recognition, to the point where Sung had to completely rebuild him again. “I don’t even know if I can fix you. I don’t know these materials. Lark sure doesn’t-!”

So he _was_ truly aware. That was one less thing to worry about at least. Havve raised his limp hand again and flopped it against the other’s shoulder, hoping his eyes could convey what his broken mouth could not. It’s okay. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this shit out. “This is _insane_ !” Sung blurted without any kind of warning. “I met the queen of Faeries?! And she was naked?!?! And she knew, like, everything Havve. _Ehv-reee-thingggg.”_

Havve gave a silent snort and raised a hypothetical brow in the other’s direction. Sung _would_ be the one in the group to meet what ought to be a fictional Fae queen. After this was all said and done, he probably wouldn’t stop bragging about the fact. Now though? It just served as a reminder of how out of their element they were. How _different_ this world ran. “We were supposed to come here, apparently.” He continued as he waved his arms around, pathetically noodle-like. It was like Sung was a teenager again, gangly limbs akimbo, angles all over the place. “Maybe? She kept speaking in riddles, so don’t take too much stock in that.”

Shutting down mentally instead of physically. Typical. Sung continued to fill the space between them up out loud as they continued their journey, making up for their lacking link, probably aching for it himself. They were a careful balance of rambunctious spur of the moment reactions and cunning calculation. They always evened each other out. But that was in their world, not this one. Here? He was more connected to Phobos… To Ely. Still the seething shadow though. Still the thing made from and for the fight.

“Dude.”

Lark’s mouth didn’t look right at all saying the word, causing Havve to give a broken laugh through his damaged vocal cords. Sung blinked and covered his mouth upon realizing what had happened, only for the amusement in his eyes to betray him. “...Sorry, I just- you look friggin’ miserable.” Sung stated. “About to Charlie Brown your way up into that damn temple. And fuck, I think I know why you do. I keep going back to all the similarities. The differences.” He pushed his hair out of his face. “Like how of course I’m not any taller in this world but I’m still involved in music, and how you’re a badass berserker barbarian robot thing but we can’t actually talk. And Meouch? Meouch is a pirate, a shape shifting lion pirate mind you, which makes sense, whereas Phobos-!”

Sung paused in word, in body, in breath, in _all._

Phobos was the most different out of all of them, his silence seemed to whisper fiercely as they stood in the middle of a world that did not belong to them, and he was missing now.

“...Sorry, now’s not the time to get distracted, is it?” The smaller man said in a dull voice as Havve stared after him, a million thoughts running through his head but nowhere to put them but back again. Onwards, then, Sung seemed to say without actually saying it as he followed Gooby forward, through the mist and mystery. 

To whatever the future held in store for them.  
  
To the end, after all.

The temple was the only thing that still looked as it had before the dragon had appeared, but upon crossing the threshold, Havve began to sense that something truly was different. There was something irrevocable about the space now. Something amiss. And then it clicked. There wasn’t a soul to be found. No whispering maiden acolytes, no Synthea. It was just like the city they had trekked through- a complete and utter ghost town.

“Jeeze, let’s grab you some paper and my shit and go.” Sung licked at his lips nervously, thankfully also picking up on the strange energy that lingered in the air. What he’d give for the cacophony of Sung’s core sensing the air around them and picking up on what emotions lingered there. To feel the backwash of feelings and sort through them casually. To not be Lark and the War Forged. To be fucking home again. “Then… go towards the inn?” Sung wonder-offered out loud, his voice breaking his unending litany. “That’s what Meouch and his partner were going on about last night, after all. Maybe they took C-Dubbs with them. Maybe that’s our ‘safe haven’ until we can group up...” Sung’s eyes swung to his and there was a momentary flicker of amusement there. “It’s weird to think of Meouch with a wife, isn’t it? Like in what universe-?”

Something moved in the shadows. Something _breathed_.

Havve whirled towards it, not caring that he was more than half broken and one good hit away from knowing his true end. Not now. Not _ever_ if he could manage it. Maybe he’d wake up on the other side, or maybe it would be like when you died in a dream, forcing you to die in real life. Whatever it was startled back and yet he still pursued it, stopping only when Sung went to grab him and accidentally pulled his whole arm off. 

Sung blinked. He blinked. The thing in the shadows gaped at the sight.

“Oh, by the Guardian of Singers and Troubadours…” It whispered, and that’s when Havve’s day _really_ went to shit. Because of course _he_ was here. The bane of his existence reinvented. The scourge of his nightmares reborn. 

Bombustron, he thought murderously, just as the Halfling began to yell.

~

If Havve could get into his head, Sung already knew what he’d be muttering to himself. Give me _one_ good reason not to kill him right now. To incapacitate him. To at least knock him out. And could Sung blame him for thinking that? In their universe maybe, but definitely not this one. “Humble!” He forced the Lark side of his brain to turn on as he addressed the gasping Halfling, not sure if he was more desperate for answers or to stall the promised bloodshed. “What are you doing here!?” Out of everything possible, everything that could and should and would probably happen, he hadn’t been expecting _this_.

His attention finally managed to snap Sung’s way, breath shuddering, eyes panicked. “Oh, I could ask you the same thing, you- you moronic _twit!_ ” He nearly pitched forward along with the oversized vase he had hefted above head, before he caught himself and stumbled back. “You traipse back into town after a whole boat of pirates show up and within a day, a _literal_ day! There’s a ridiculous storm the likes of which we have never seen before, a dragon, the entire Matron’s temple emptied out! Not to mention that!” He spluttered. “What the rutting hell, Lark!?”

He did _not_ need a telepathic link to know that Havve was furious. The other drew himself up to his full height, even taller than in their universe, forcing Sung to step between the two of them before anything happened. “I know.” He started, unsure of what else to say. There wasn’t even any point in saying ‘I told you so’ even _if he_ had that right. The argument he and the other man had had in the inn seemed like it had taken place a million years ago, more even. “...I’m glad you’re okay though.” He added lamely when Humble’s eyes kept skipping between the two of them.

Humble gave a hollow laugh, arms wavering yet again. It was a miracle he was holding it up in the first place- the gods damn vase was nearly the same height as him. “You’re glad _I’m_ okay? Of course I’m okay! I was sobering up at Tilly’s until this morning, agonizing over what kind of trouble you had managed to get yourself into when I finally got my arse out of bed and meandered down to the inn. And you know what, Lark? I arrive and there’s _no one_ there-!”

“No one at the inn?” He whispered to himself as Humble kept ranting on. The temple made sense in a way, it seemed the most likely for an attack, but Tilly’s inn all the way at the edge of town? Why? How? “Gods, Humble, slow down!” He ripped the vase out of the Halfling’s trembling grip before he went down with it, grimacing as he set it down next to Havve’s despondent arm. “When you say ‘no one at the inn’, what do you mean?” The place had been _teeming_ with pirates. And sure, none of them had come down when they had awoken the War Forged, but signs of their existence had been everywhere. Shoes and boots, food stores, all sorts of sharp and glittering weaponry…

The buyer. Something else. 

The Illithid.

“Like rutting ghosts, Lark!” Humble yelped. “Neither hide nor hair! And despite that, despite the fact that I swear I’m about to give myself an ulcer, I somehow then convince myself to go to town and ask where you’ve been! Because after yesterday I’m trying to be a better friend, but none of that matters because there’s a rutting dragon on the horizon and I’ve got no more than a water skin strapped to my back and a hunting knife on my hip and I’m as good as dead, so-!” Havve had apparently had enough of this conversation, deciding to stalk off and grab whatever he could with only one arm, Gooby choosing to follow him. “So what choice do I, a Halfling with no real weapons and no actual talents or means to defend himself with magic or cantrips, have!?”

“You come here.” Sung filled in, not eager to let the silence stretch long and terrible between them.

“I come here.” Humble spat back almost immediately. “And almost get killed by your new friend.”

Apologize. Crack a joke. Spin the truth and craft a story. What would _Lark_ do? Did that even matter now? Humble was a companion. No more than a character got mentioned once before he was long forgotten. That’s what Titania and Synthea had told him. But… the Halfling was more than some face passing through the crowd. He and Lark had grown up together, faced the world after the College disbanded together, carved a living out for themselves. 

He mattered.

He was a part of this.

He _deserved_ to know.

Sung opened his mouth but the smaller man was quicker, also apparently eager to not leave any kind of room for second thoughts or hesitation. “It’s not fair.” He began to whisper. “It feels as though I willed all of this into existence…”

A laugh startled out of him at that. Him? No. This was all on them. Well, them and the Illithid. “Humble, you didn’t-” 

“You don’t get it!” The smaller man’s voice warbled. “All I wanted was for you to come back that night empty handed. To show back up at Tilly’s door and apologize and have enough sense to be done with all of this. To finally feel the way I have been for years and years and years.” Humble pressed his lips together and inhaled shakily. “A quiet life. A normal life. A life where we could forget.”

Forget the stories. Forget the promise of adventure. Forget the possibility this life held and every life beyond it, he meant.

How many choices echoed across worlds and lifetimes? Bombus after Bombus growing tired of the great unknown and trying to run from it? Had they ever found a middle ground to make it work? Were they fated to repeat this? “But then I realized…” His eyes shot up to Sung’s and he swore he could see him as he had known him years ago, in a world so different from this one but still unapologetically his- brown skinned and four eyed, those neat little horns of his peering out from the dark curls on his head. “That’s not possible, is it, my dear friend?”  
“That depends.” Maybe there _was_ a world where Bombus finally got to be his truest and most best self. To live a life of subtle anonymity and grow as he saw fit. Or a world where he fully submerged himself into everything. Maybe not. Maybe that was just wishful thinking and stardust.

What mattered in the here and now was that Humble made the choice. No one else but him.

“I wish I could tell you that there’s a chance you staying here means you get to avoid all this, but if my conversation with Titania meant anything,” He turned his own head up to the glassy ceiling and snorted. “I wouldn’t put a lot of stock into that.”

“I’m sorry, your _what?_ ” He took a step closer and broke the illusion Sung had been so certain of as he pitched his voice soft and low. “Say that once more.”

Lark hadn’t seen that look in so, so long. Plum eyes gleaming. Astonishment parting his mouth. Childlike wonder. Want. “Titania.” Sung breathed, smiling with it’s utterance, his joy simultaneously his and Lark’s. “Queen of the Faeries. She brought me into her realm.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Humble pushed his palm against the shoulder where he had been cut, causing Sung to draw in a pained breath before laughing around it. “You can’t be serious! You!? Titania!? How?”

“I’m the most serious I’ve ever been!” Being part Fae wasn’t his secret to spill. This Sung had every right to pursue it as he saw fit, or even to forget it. “But Humble, that’s the least of it. You saw the thing following me of course. That’s a War Forged. And there’s this _other_ thing that’s coming…” Sung trailed off as Humble’s eyes changed, marvel warring with dread, all growing hesitancy. “Tell me if I should stop.” Draw the line, Sung wanted his violet eyes to speak when his mouth struggled to do so, thoughts of his own past life clouding in, his regrets choking him. Draw it and I will not cross it this time.

But those words never came. Instead, in that accidental graveyard they had both stumbled into, Humble’s adam’s apple bobbed before he slowly shook his head. “No.” He managed, just a thread of terror slipping in as the clouds roiled overhead, hands shaking only a fraction, maybe, just maybe, from growing excitement. “I suppose you mean there’s more than the dragon, then, and not some deviant redcaps?”

If only things were that simple. He bent down and grabbed his best friend’s arm. “...Let’s find Havve and I’ll tell you the rest of it.”

~

“Aasimar aren’t allowed to speak, love.”

Ely’s childhood had been one of constants. The ginger tea his mother always made him, nights spent traveling under the starlight, running through the dirty streets of Angeal like an errant comet, Venia’s laughter forever echoing around him. Every day, probably since he had been born, she had whispered the same gentle warning until it lived and breathed inside his head. “Not with your mouth, at least. No teeth, no tongue. Tell me what you need using your thoughts, Elysium.” She would smile and kiss his forehead. “I’ll hear them no matter what.”

All true Aasimar children grew up surrounded by the constant flow of thoughts and internal voices spawned by their families, and for a while, that seemed like the only difference between how they chose to live apart from them. But no. Ely was truly, inexplicably, different. He didn’t have feathers tucked against his spine and bristling at his throat. He didn’t have golden skin and the fire of Flamerule singing through his veins and heart. He didn’t shimmer with dreamy iridescence and ring with every step he took. He was dark eyed, red skinned, _rough_. Very nearly a Tiefling in every sense of the word except for the shining bolt of hair falling down his back and lack of tail and horns.

They would stare and he would stare back. He would hear them. Everybody talked. No one would listen.

“Aasimar aren’t allowed to bleed, Elysium.” She would say too. “Lest they lose themselves.”

It wasn’t as if Venia had sheltered him by any means or kept him locked away from the world. But she had always done everything in her power to make sure Elysium took care of himself. Overly cautious was the phrasing he’d tease her with. 

On one’s guard is what she’d counter back.

She’d lay charms upon him too when they could afford it, sew luckstones into his favorite cloak. They’d stop at every temple of Tymora they came across in their travels and pray for good luck. _That’s_ why he never tried to pursue the truth despite how easy it would have been, because that had been the one thing Venia had asked of him growing up, because he loved her, and she loved him.

But whether it was planned by the gods or simply an act of _un_ luck, when it finally did happen, it wasn’t even his fault. 

No, that fell upon the shoulders of a young Steel Scion girl who’s name to this day he didn’t even know. It had been pure chance as they had stopped to set up shop during the Feast of the Moon. A night of healing and stories and remembrance. Neither of them could have known that the poor young woman would lose herself to the pain of losing both her parents as she danced her part in the ritual. All Elysium had seen was the blade hurtling towards Venia. His mother. His only friend. 

He broke his first promise and let the blade cut into him.

He knew then.

Everybody did.

_Elysium Blood Crier, first and last of his name, borne to blood and bound to duty, son of no one._

Well... almost.

 _The True Godson. Phobos. First and last of his name, borne to fear and tyranny, son of the New Darkness and Cruel Master, Grandson of the Black Hand and the Dark One. That which should not exist but_ did _despite the will of the gods._

But now there was something else to be had. Another side. The true self. That which Elysium could never be or dare to dream of. 

_Aurum of the Rubicundae, then Named Lord Phobos, one of seven Universal Emissaries of Satelles and He Who Greets the Stars. Secret Endling of the Lepid race and sole Remember of their words and songs._

But even _more_ than all those things- more than any name, any title, than all the ostentatious pageantry… he was…

_A guitar player, a pacifist, a lover of trashy romance novels and sappy poetry._

He _was_...

_A mischievous bastard, a living legacy, a daydreamer, a shoulder to lean on._

_(_ phobosphobosphobos) 

_That’s_ who he was after all.

“There we are. See what happens when you give yourself a chance to think things over, little war lord?”

Where there was nothing there were now a hundred-thousand _somethings_ for him to make sense of. Every color imaginable too, slipping over one another with no real rhyme or reason, only to burst like fireworks across the atmosphere. Like star singing without the song. Like star singing without _Sung._ Oh. His heart gave a delayed ache at the thought, eyes burning, nails biting into his palms.

How long had he been living this false life? When did this strange story truly start? The moments before they had approached the black hole stopped and started inside his head over and over again like a faulty video. Eternal’s hull shuddering, Havve’s eyes flickering off and on, Sung’s hand pressed against his, C-Dubbs spewing code, Meouch turned towards the event horizon, words forming on his tongue...

It started with darkness.

No.

It started with _blood_.

“But should I be that surprised when it is Bane’s kin that stands before? That walks the Weave’s finest line?” The voice pressed on despite his growing confusion, dulcet as it dragged him from his warring memories.

(godofruining) the lights whispered in conspiratorial little voices as they swirled around him. (wewelcomeyoutoourhome)

Two blue eyes peered out at him amid all the chaos, amused and ancient and sly. “However… you’re not exactly the _true_ Godson, are you?” She said on a sighing purr-hum. It wasn’t an accusation, Phobos decided warily as he stayed standing there, moreso a rhetorical statement meant to lead him along. “In body? Yes. Undoubtedly. But in mind…” The lights moved even closer in her pausing. “That’s when you become a wildcard.”

(wildcardwildcard) the lights giggled as they began untangling his hair. Elysium’s hair. The distinction made his head hurt. (youreawildcardgodson)

“...These are firewisps.” Not his words, not his voice, but _Elysium’s_ . So quiet too, no more than a rough thread slipping out and into the endless space surrounding them. Had it been the same for him back then when he had broken his own vow? Had his own voice really been so small? Had his mouth forgotten the shape of words? Their sounds? ‘Aasimar’s aren’t allowed to speak’ Venia had told Elysium every day. And yet Phobos had _taken_ that choice and first words away so easily. Without a second thought.

Squandered them and for what?

For what?

For _what?_

Just like before she was watching him despite his dreading. Waiting. Even the firewisps seemed to finally pause.

Go on then, Phobos told himself, to the end of whatever this was. “And you… you’re…” He had to dig deep in Elysium’s memories. Practically fall into them as they were slowly being buried under his own once more. That which exists beyond the Wheel, it came to him, tone reverential and growing in awe. The very being that had given Toril true shape after Selune had battled Shar.

The Mother of All Magic.

Our Lady of Spells.

“Mystryl.” Phobos breathed out, the only thing _anyone_ would be capable of managing after realizing that they stood in front of magic itself. 

Sung would be _so_ jealous, he couldn’t help but think with a momentary spark of glee before focusing once more.

“My! Someone knows how to make a dead power blush!” She was laughing freely and loudly as she began to give shape to herself. “It’s all talk and worship over Mystr- _aah_ and Midnight now, not poor old mum.” Her hair was a floating prism of rainbow clouds, her skin warm and brown; there were subtle age lines creasing her brow as well and feathering out from luminous eyes and thousands of gems ringing against her robes. “Cosmic balance, they say. Correcting inequalities! Collaring magic and deeming it _tameable._ ”

Again, there was no real anger or disgust in her tone, just her sing-song words to lead him along. She moved like water when she passed him, the world shining twilight where she stepped before going dark once more. “When in fact, magic is like you and I, wild card. It wants and longs. It aches and grows. It mourns like we do. Laughs like we do. It hates. It _loves_.”

(wantsandlongs)

(achesandgrows)

(mournsandlaughsandhatesandloves)

“Everything is magic.” Phobos answered despite it not being a question. Or maybe it was Elysium who brought the words forth. With the lines blurring between them despite his remembrance, it was still too hard to tell. “Everyone.”

But oh, how she glowed with the admission, cupping his face tenderly and drawing him close. The firewisps thrilled with it too, the air sighing contentedly around them as they painted the world in vibrant hues. “No matter where they come from.” She murmured. “No matter where they go. We’re just all threads in the Weave, slowly unraveling ourselves. Some faster than others. Some barely at all.”

“That’s why I’m here isn’t it?” There was no other reason. Not one that Phobos could think of. “I did something on the beach… Something to upset the Weave...” But I didn’t have a choice, he could feel the building scream growing in his heart. Meouch, Havve, Sung. Gods, Deimos himself! Reenvisioned and reborn! But his voice strangled itself at the last second, a great and terrible guilt taking hold. “I had to save them from the Illithid.” He told her after he found his breath again. She’d understand right? How it would tear her precious Weave to shreds? How it would kill all of them? “We can’t let it win.”

“You don’t think I know?” Her eyes flashed with frozen fire. Shadowed light. “I’ve seen it all wild card. The tangles that you have all wrought since coming here. The new patterns you’ve wove. All choices you have made in bodies that aren’t even yours. But it was worth it, I kept telling myself, if it meant saving all of Aber-Toril and the rest of the Wheel from that ceaseless aberration who still draws near.”

But that wasn’t the end of her triade and he _knew_ it. Not by a long shot. “Until?” He dared to fill in, maybe brave, maybe dumb.

The goddess bared her teeth and Phobos felt real fear tear through his body, akin to when the Great Wyrm had first stared down at him. This being, this _thing_ , was as old as reality itself and her dare goad her? But then she simply curled her fingers into his skin and pinched his cheeks. _Hard._ “Until you decided to tear Faerun apart with your newfound powers, asshole.”

(troubletroubletrouble) the firewisps twirled and tittered all around as he gave a startled flail. (youreintroublewildcard)

“I didn’t think-!” Phobos squeaked. 

“Oh, I’m _very_ aware that you did not think, wild card.” Mystryl drawled, still holding on. “Heroes love to sell selfishness as selflessness in the long run. For the greater good!” She rallied in a voice both sarcastic and triumphant. “For the sake of the gods and all humanity, for your friends, for the dreamers, for what you hold true. But they never think of the aftermath and consequences. So that’s when I step in.”

Phobos goggled at her and Mystryl sighed. “Damn, I suppose the poetics aren’t helping, are they? Shall I spell it out for you simply then?”

“Yes please.” He whispered with an apologetic frown.  
“Fine then.” She pulled back and the world shimmered around them. Mundus Muli as he and Lark… he and _Sung_ had passed it. Gray and gloomy and unharmed. “What else does your host know about me?” The goddess asked as she sketched a playful brow. “Ask him what else I stand for. What else I can control?”

The Time of Flowers. Invention and creativity. Energy. All spells. No… she had to be implying something else, something greater, Phobos figured. Something _more_. A rumor. A whisper. A possibility that one could only dream of. “Time.” Phobos finally uttered in a fascinated whisper. “You watch the continuity of the timeline.”

(yesyesyes) the Firewisps bobbed and cheered excitedly. (itsallbecomingclearnow)

Mystryl was all smiles and an endless spilling of twilight as she turned to face him once more. “Yes, and you made the wrong choice, wild card, and _that_ is why we speak now and here.”

He had made a goddess step out of time, out of _death_ itself, to right what he had done wrong. Phobos felt the floor tilt out from underneath him, his back and lungs aching in a way they hadn’t in forever, horrified remorse threatening to swallow him whole. “I didn’t-” He rasped. But he _had_ , his hand forced by the dragon, by Hiraeth’s possible sacrifice, by the inconceivability of it all. 

“You alone made the choice Elysium never could have.” Her sad eyes slid to his. “To be greater than your own body and capabilities. To become the new Godson.” Now her words were accusatory, but her tone cradled him, made it easier to bear, somehow. “You could defeat the Great Wyrm and the Illithid like this, but at a staggering cost.”

The third coming of Bane, Phobos came to the realization with a humorless laugh, costing him not only his own existence but also Elysium’s. “I didn’t know.” He felt those same dangerous tears from before well up but they held no power here. So they fell like stars down his cheeks and jaw, prompting the firewisps to swarm and nuzzle him worriedly as he tried not to sob. “I was still Elysium, but he was starting to realize- I was… waking up…” 

“I know. I know. Phobos.” Hearing his name was so strange and beautiful and foreign all at once. She was touching him again, but it was his hands again, her grip somehow cool and warm. “I’m not angry that it happened. I came to help. I can hold this irreversible moment in my pocket for a little while longer with all the people who aren't a part of it. Think of it like a knot. Put you right past it as you are so you can beat the Illithid and smooth it out once more.” 

He could fix it. They could fix it. And then… “We can go back.” Phobos whispered as excitement thrummed through his bones. “We can go home.”

The firewisps spun up into the sky and sang the most beautiful song. (homehomehomehomehome) they chimed in a great tumble of love. (finallyfinallyhome)

“But…” Deimos. Hiraeth. Was he fated to lose his best friend again? Had Phobos taken them from Elysium? Mystryl noticed his hesitation and gave a knowing cluck of her tongue. 

“Oh, you make despondency look so cute.” She huffed. “Here I was, planning on giving you one present, but I _suppose_ I can make it two.” With a playful roll of her eyes, Phobos witnessed as she put her fingers into the air and _pulled_.

Hiraeth came flying out of the darkness with the action, screaming bloody murder into their heads until they hit the ground face first. “Oh! Oh my!” Her hands fluttered to her face. “I didn’t mean for that to happen! Oh hell!”

“Shit!” Phobos fumbled forward. “Deimos!” Oh, shit, no, not that. “Hiraeth!” No wait! Not that either! And definitely not with his mouth!!! Hadn’t he just had a big epiphany about that a handful of minutes ago? He heard Mystryl laugh and groaned. _Damn it_ _Hiraeth, by the rutting Wheel, wake up!_

Their eyes snapped open and they nearly caught Phobos by the throat, but he grabbed their hand instead at the last second, clutching their fingers together with a deliriously happy sound. _It’s okay, you’re okay, take a breath and look around._

 _...Am I dead?_ Hiraeth whispered raggedly as they took it all in. And could Phobos blame them? Never. Not in a million years.

“Ahem. No, you’re not.” Mystryl leaned over them before Phobos could offer some kind of comfort or explanation, those strange eyes of her sparkling in the dark. “Pleasure to meet you, you fart in the wind, I’m Mystryl, moving on.”

_YOU’RE WHAT?_

_I’ll explain later…_ Phobos winced. _We were just going to get back to Faerun._

_When did we leave? Wait! What’s happening!?_

“What’s happening…” The goddess began to study her nails before giving them a playful wink, like they _weren’t_ about to embark on the most terrifying and impossible journey imaginable. “Is that your ride is almost here! Tut-tut!” 

_Ride?_ He cocked his head to the side. _You mean you can’t drop us off?_

“I am quite preoccupied already.” She deadpanned. “You know, what with holding back an actual dragon from the Underdark? That being said…” Mystryl seemed to loom over them, growing impossible tall, her magic becoming a living thing around her. “I may be powerful, good god children, but that thing is _more_ than a god. It is a failed refraction. A deviation from all that is known. Do not let it touch my Weave, Elysium.” She spoke the name that was not his with layers upon layers of meaning. “Kill it before it's too late for everyone.”

But how? Phobos was seconds from asking before Hiraeth started to scream their head off. _BY THE WHEEL!_ The firewisps began to scatter, and in the space between one breath and the next, Mystryl also faded from his view. _ARE YOU SEEING WHAT I’M SEEING?_

Phobos cursed and turned his head only to blink and blink again.

It wasn’t just any ride, it seemed. It was the most incredible kind.

It was a living, breathing _unicorn_.

 _...Oh_ hell _yes._ Phobos felt himself smile finally. Wait until the guys got a load of this one _._

~

She wasn’t sure how it happened but Leon grinned the same exact moment time stopped.

Saying it stopped was doing what actually happened a favor. It was more like it skipped. Stumbled over itself. Paused. Yevon moved in that exact moment though, half-pulling Synthea against her and away from the acolytes, and apologizing weakly under her breath as she did. But there was no time to grab all of them. Not enough power anyways. Away, away, away is all that her brain could manage. Away from whatever had taken her husband. Away from the oncoming tide of death. Away from fucking _here_.

“I swear if this doesn’t work-!” She yelled as the world remembered itself, snapping her wedding band the second Leon’s blank eyes met hers, his gaze skewering into her. She saw an abyss unfolding there. A hunger so endless that it would never be satiated no matter how much it gobbled up. That was more than the beast. That was…

“Oh gods.” She whispered as she finally figured it out.

The Illithid.

The Illithid.

The fucking Illithid had come.

The spell took hold without any kind of warning and she and Synthea were slammed back and away from him. The wind roared, her stomach flipped. The gemjump was everything the merchant had told her it would be but Yevon _still_ hadn’t been prepared for it. A scream tore out of her. She felt her mind bend…

And just like that, she was back at the inn.

It wasn’t pretty though. There was feathers all around her and a broken bed, but she was alive, and thank the gods, so was Synthea somehow. Yevon pushed her braids back and gave a shaking sigh. Alive for now. And for how long… she didn’t know. She had to find Lark and Elysium and the War Forged. “Oh, wake up, you...!” The Half-Orc gave the Loxodon a gentle-ish push. Again, it was a favor to call it that. It was flat out a shove. “I can’t carry you.” That much was obvious enough. 

Synthea moaned and Yevon resisted the urge to go on a rampage in response. She stormed about the room instead, grabbing whatever she could that they had brought along with them. Her pistol again. Her favorite axe. A short sword… To use against Leon? Yes. Maybe. She didn't know.

“Had a feeling you’d show up here again.” Yevon spun and there was that bitch, Tauril. Yevon curled her lip and went about ignoring her. No time for petty grievances and bullshit when her husband was possessed and wreaking utter havoc-

“I don’t know what that means.” Yevon could sense her lingering, so she bit out the words. “Given that I am first mate and basically co-captain, it would make sense for me to return.” But then just like that, she remembered what else had been happening before the world had gone to shit. “The buyer…” She turned too slowly.

Tauril stood there simply _grinned_.

“Bitch.” Yevon swore and spun like a demented top, letting her knives fly out one by one only for the Half Elf to dodge them like they were nothing but air. She too had those eyes. Deep and fathomless. Swallowing the world whole. Had it happened to the rest of the crew? Were they downstairs eagerly waiting for her?

Later. She told herself. First came this.

“Took you long enough to figure it out!” She laughed horribly. “First Mate Yevon’s so smart! Nothing gets under her nose! No shenanigans on this boat!” Tauril waggled her index finger playfully. “I’ll save you the effort of thinking too hard though and just tell you everything. You shouldn’t have ever let me on your damn boat.” One step and they were face to face, breath mingling before Tauril stabbed her right in the thigh with one of her own knives and twisting it left and right.

Yevon screamed and swung her axe up, but again, Tauril moved _too_ fast, a shadowed blur across the walls. “Captain Meouch is lucky. He’s a natural host. Some of us are forced into it. It’s called Ceremorphosis.” She leered violently. “In through the eye and away your brain goes. Like calls to like though. The minute I showed up, everything started going south for poor lil' Leon, of course.”

Oh gods, she was telling the truth, wasn't she? Leon’s beast had started to become more unruly when Tauril had showed up. But they were climbing the ladder then. Becoming more and more famous. “So what? Your freak of nature master has been planning this for how many years?” The blood pumping out of her should have been terrifying but it only led to exhiliration. She licked her lips and started to think. Hoping to catch her off guard. Distract her somewhat. “Took it long enough.”

The Half Elf’s lips curled back as she issued a guttural sound. “That’s because of you, you fucking whore.”

She leapt forward again and Yevon raised her gun with her other hand. One shot. Let it be enough. But instead something else filled up the space between them all too easily. A thing of light and magic and wonder. A thing that Yevon had only daydreamed of.

“Oh.” Tauril gasped, staring down at the golden horn now impaled through her chest. How, that little sound seemed to mean as a torrent of black blood bubbled up from her insides, I was supposed to win this one.

 _Son of a bitch!_ A high and frantic voice entered Yevon’s head as Tauril began to spew ichor up and she could only stand there as she got a face full of horse hair, most of it in her rutting mouth. There was a Unicorn in her bedroom and it had just killed someone she had never liked in the first place. 

_Well, that’s one way to make an entrance._ The other Aasimar murmured as they looked back at her and Yevon could only give a spluttering laugh of disbelief before she went and fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PAC IS BACK  
> AND I ADDED ANOTHER CHAPTER BECAUSE I HAVE NO CONTROL OF MY LIFE AND I KIND OF SUCK BUT THIS CHAPTER UH, HOPEFULLY "FUCKED" FOR LACK OF BETTER WORDS AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT AND IM *SO* SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT UH THE WORLD IS A SHITHOLE AND I'M TRYING MY BEST SO
> 
> THANKS
> 
> :TIREDWHIP:
> 
> IM GONNA GO LAY DOWN NOW


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